


Only You

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-06 21:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: Begins during 1x09.  Instead of Wyatt, it is Flynn who joins Lucy to go undercover with Bonnie and Clyde.  As Lucy and Flynn's attraction becomes absolutely irrepressible, what happens next will change both of their lives, as well as the fates of everyone involved in the fight against Rittenhouse.





	1. Chapter 1

Garcia Flynn sighed irritably and looked around at the small, dusty Arkansas town square, knowing that soon enough, his quarry would be exiting that very bank where he waited not-so-patiently. It was a sweltering day, enough so that he hooked a thumb into his collar, tugging it to ease the heat on his skin underneath the layers of his neatly dapper suit. 

Another day, another chance to see American history unfolding right before his eyes. Most people would feel honored at such a remarkable opportunity, and plenty would be overcome with excitement despite the inherent danger of this scenario, with reckless bank robbers due to come bursting out onto the street at any moment.

Flynn was bored. But that was mostly because he forced himself to be, made himself an impassive observer going from one historical event to the next with tunnel vision. He was here for the same reason he went everywhere: to defeat Rittenhouse and save his family, along with countless others. Of all things, he could not stop and take the luxury to appreciate life unfolding all around him. He couldn’t be intrigued by cultural marvels, cheered by the sight of happy people strolling through bygone eras, or saddened by the often awful tragedies of past times.

And so every place looked the same to Flynn; today it was 1934, but he could be anyone, anywhere, any when…as long as he accomplished what he had to and moved closer to the end goal. Part of him was secretly afraid that if he _did_ really take a good, hard look at people, places, _life_ , he’d care, he’d begin to live again himself, and that would be a very bad idea. He might do more than lose sight of the mission: he might lose heart at the thought of certain necessary evils which still lay ahead, plus the crimes he’d already committed. Flynn might begin to feel again, and that was something he saw as the ultimate threat, one he must fight at all costs. 

He always kept his family in his heart, of course, but dwelling on those happy memories or replaying the traumatic ones sent him off-track if he kept at it too long. Still, his dreams confronted him with the memories anyway almost every night, and whether the visions were true to life or distorted, his subconscious didn’t seem to care as long as he was forced to face them. Flynn considered this a safe enough place to put the pain for now, more conducive to success in his plans than chasing the misery down to the bottom of a bottle, anyway. That would be easy; that had been his plan in Sao Paulo, but not anymore, not now that he had purpose. But in the strictness of that purpose, even in the wide expanse of all of time itself, there was no time to waste feeling sorry for himself.

Lately, he’d had new dreams as well, strange ones, better than being tormented by visions of the wife and son he might have lost forever, but disturbing in their very own, special way. Dreams about Lucy Preston.

“Flynn!” Lucy’s voice chirped up out of nowhere, or as if summoned by his own thoughts. He couldn’t hide it this time: he was genuinely startled, and for one split second his nonchalant mask slipped away to reveal the vulnerable man hiding beneath. Lucy saw it, registered the appearance of the stranger, the _feeling_ Flynn, and hesitated in her rampage. She’d been striding right at him with a decided scowl on her face, her dainty boots leaving a trail of dust in her wake, but now she looked at him questioningly for just a few more seconds.

Lucy was so beautiful, Flynn thought, prettier, more elegant and striking than anyone really should be when they came around him simultaneously possessing such exquisite wit and effortless style, such a kind heart brimming over with the sort of constant goodness that made him fleetingly wish there was some other life where he could allow himself to react honestly to any of this. 

He blinked at her slowly, regaining his facade of indifference, and smiled as if that cute, neatly coiffed hairstyle had no effect on him, nor still the salmon pink dress that skimmed her distracting frame to beguiling perfection. He cleared his throat, casually stalling while he pushed aside the thought of kissing Lucy’s beautiful, soft mouth and quite thoroughly smearing her smart red lipstick, daring instead to gaze fixedly into her big brown eyes. He would not drown. He would be sensible, dammit. The days of attraction, much less romance, were far behind him.

“Hello, Lucy,” Flynn greeted with sarcastic friendliness, gesturing in faux-bewilderment. “Whatever is wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” And maybe she had.

“Well?” She ignored his question and chose her own instead, throwing her hands up and staying a few paces back but looking again accusatory, having gotten past her own momentary surprise at his soft expression. “What the hell are you doing here and what do you want with Bonnie and Clyde?”

“What do I want, Lucy?” Flynn stepped closer and smirked down at her, doing his best not to get carried away at his proximity to her adorable petiteness. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He chuckled; she rolled her eyes.

“What about you, Lucy?” He shrugged, sincerely baffled. “Why in the world are you here, alone?”

“Wyatt and Rufus are tracking another lead, I just happened to find you first,” she admitted.

A look of stern disapproval for her teammates briefly crossed his face; he couldn’t help it. “And they let you go off on your own like this? Is that wise? Aren’t they more concerned with your safety, after all, you are not a trained soldier like your wonderful friend Wyatt.”

The sarcasm was back, dripping from his reference to Wyatt, only highlighting his resentment for the other man, suggesting that he disliked Wyatt even more for leaving Lucy on her own in such a place, suggesting something bizarre and inappropriate beneath the surface of his confident demeanor: jealousy. Lucy might have noticed it, Flynn supposed, and chose to ignore it, but _something_ in his words made her even angrier with him than usual and hence sexier than ever.

“I can handle myself, as you know perfectly well,” Lucy snapped, eyes narrowed and cheeks inflamed. “And there wouldn’t be any danger for you to condescendingly _pretend_ to care about me being protected from if it weren’t for _you_!”

“Well, that’s simply not true, Lucy, but I wonder when you will ever stop to listen to me about your journal or Rittenhouse or what it is that I’m actually trying to accomplish. You’d realize then that I wish you no harm, and in fact we are meant to be working _together!_ ” He’d begun lightly enough but his frustration broke through the last few words and she did another double-take.

“You’re weird today,” Lucy accused petulantly. He loved her frankness, her honesty. He couldn’t get enough of it; she evoked his endless curiosity. “What’s going on with you?” Her question rang out as people wandered through the town around them, oblivious to the battle of words and ideals raging between two complicated time travelers.

“Why do you care?” Flynn argued, certainly not keen on telling her he was being “weird” because he couldn’t shake the recurring dream of taking her in his arms and — no, he would _not_ think about that in front of her. His own cheeks turned pink to a just barely-perceptible degree which he would have loved to attribute to the hot weather.

“I _don’t_ care!” She looked offended at the implication, perhaps a little too much so, like she was overcompensating. This made him smile broadly, and then she looked like she wanted to slap him across the face. Well, that was nothing new. He told himself he didn’t mind if she hated him, despite the way he could never quite make that idea stick properly.

Lucy bristled in silent fury for a few more beats, her hands tightly fisted at her sides as she hovered just a little closer, confrontational and feisty. He felt an intoxicating energy in the air between them as she added grimly, “Why were you pretending to care about me, whether I’m by myself, whether I’m in danger?”

He couldn’t answer that, so he bent his head lower and said intimately, “You’re not afraid of that danger if it’s me, are you? You’re not afraid of me, Lucy.”

Her jaw dropped and she was momentarily stunned. “I—”

Just then, Bonnie and Clyde came storming out of the bank like well-dressed little bats out of hell, practically flying past Lucy and Flynn without even noticing them as they leapt into their getaway car with triumphant hoots.

Flynn gave Lucy one more fleeting, searching look, then ran after the famous couple, leaping into their vehicle with Lucy hot on his heels.

“Get the hell out of my car before I blow your heads clean off,” Clyde warned harshly, leveling his gun at them.

“Yeah, who exactly do y’all think you are, just hopping in here like that, now get!” Bonnie added, prompting Lucy to speak in that easily compelling tone of hers, so gentle and knowing that it was truly difficult to resist her reasoning.

“We know which way the cops are comin’ from to intercept you,” she warned in a convincing-enough Southern accent.

“Right,” Flynn conceded, though this wasn’t the story he had planned on using to worm his way into Bonnie and Clyde’s good graces. He looked immediately for the necklace around Bonnie’s neck and felt Lucy noticing him looking, causing him to draw his gaze back as he continued to think. “You don’t want to drive North, not with the police coming from that way.”

“Why the fuck should we believe you? You could be leading us straight to the cops! Who are y’all supposed to be, anyway?” Clyde demanded, his eyes blazing with indignation though Bonnie looked out the window, scanning around, a bit newly paranoid. 

“I don’t know, baby, what if they’re tellin’ us the truth?” she wondered, causing him to pause in his tirade.

“We are — we’re fans of yours, huge fans, we truly admire your work,” Flynn embellished as Lucy nodded emphatically. “We are — bandits ourselves, you see.”

“Y’all never heard of Lucy and Flynn?” Lucy asked archly, prompting their new frenemies to shake their heads in confusion. She went on to list several impressive recent, local heists, showing off her staggering intellect, amazing memory and historical knowledge in a way that left Flynn subtly pressing his palms into his knees, trying not to become overly aroused.

“Yeah, we heard about those,” Bonnie admitted as Clyde begrudgingly drove off away from where the cops were supposedly heading, “Would’a pulled those jobs ourselves if we’d had a chance. But what are you two doing here, at one of our heists?”

“They was probably fixin’ to rob the place themselves and now they’re tryin’ to get our loot,” Clyde accused, but Bonnie shook her head thoughtfully.

“Somethin’ about them seems on the up-and-up to me, baby,” she pondered. “Y’all seem like honest criminals. Are you puttin’ us on or are you for real?”

“We’re for real,” Lucy affirmed.

“We happened to be here in town, casing jobs, and saw you running outside. We heard a shopkeeper next door to the bank just a few minutes ago saying the cops had heard tell of your heist and were on the way,” Flynn explained craftily. A threadbare tale, but Lucy couldn’t have done much better herself. Their presence _was_ highly suspicious, and only a leap of faith could justify it in Bonnie or Clyde’s eyes.

As they drove on towards an old house in the middle of nowhere where the couple were currently planning to hide out, Flynn discovered just how easy it was, working with Lucy. How incredibly good it felt. The two of them wove an increasingly believable saga about their lives together as reckless outlaws until Bonnie and Clyde fell under their spell and began expressing admiration and excitement at their stories.

“Y’all should stay with us tonight, since you’re hittin’ the road tomorrow anyway,” Bonnie suggested as Clyde parked. She beamed, and Clyde nodded.

“Aw, I can’t say no to you, honey, you know that,” Clyde gushed, leaning in to kiss Bonnie passionately as Flynn looked away, shutting down his emotions, his capacity to care about anything like the sight of two of history’s most notorious renegades so obviously in love. They were so young, so vibrant and alive, it would be painful to look at them and think directly about how soon they’d be dead.

So, it was a good thing Flynn wasn't concerned about that. But then he saw Lucy out of the corner of his eye, saw the sadness in her face as she watched the lovers, and felt a stab of grief in his heart.

“Anyway, if the two of you really are out to swindle us, I like to keep my friends close and my enemies closer,” Clyde winked. “Try to get the drop on us and you’ll soon end up flat on your back, dead as a doornail, sound fair to you?”

“Oh, uh-huh, yeah,” Lucy agreed, talking too fast, slightly panicky. 

Flynn repressed a laugh. “Agreed. It’s absolutely fair, and we’re exceedingly honored to be here with you.”

“Well, come on in!” Bonnie giggled happily as they got out of the car. “Least we owe you is some hospitality and fun after y’all saved our hides back there. We got moonshine fit to turn you inside out in the best way possible.” She led them into the old, rickety house where functional, temporary furniture had been sensibly arranged, with piles of stolen goods stacked all over the place.

“So, how long’ve y’all been together?” their hostess grinned, batting her eyelashes as Lucy and Flynn looked at each other, then immediately looked anywhere else. “Oh, come on, you’re so in love, it’s just obvious to anyone lookin’ at ya! Spill the beans!”

“Oh,” Flynn recovered, his heart picking up speed as he put an arm around Lucy’s shoulders. Her posture, instead of remaining stiff as he expected, slightly relaxed. “About three years now, honey, isn’t it?” He smiled resplendently as Lucy’s eyes screamed angry tirades at him, though she wound her soft hand around his firm waist and answered pleasantly, as if no subject could have made her merrier.

“Yes, that’s right, sweetheart.”

_I don’t care. I don’t care that Lucy is calling me ‘sweetheart’ or that she has her arm around me, that she’s touching me, and I certainly don’t care that I’m touching her and she’s acting like she enjoys it. She’s only pretending and so am I. I’m here for the necklace._

Flynn was chiding himself so intensely that he nearly grimaced but instead he kept on smiling flirtatiously at his supposed lady love until Bonnie ran outside to kiss Clyde and share the latest gossip.

The moment the screen door slammed shut, Lucy took her hand away from Flynn and shook it out as if it might have germs.

“So, you’re here for Bonnie’s necklace,” she observed under her breath as he slid his hands into his pockets with a gently amused expression on his face.

“What makes you say that, darling?” he asked playfully.

“The way you were staring at it like a viper about to pounce, _honey bun_ ,” Lucy sneered, “And you’re not getting it. I’ll make sure of that.”

“I’d like to see you try, dumpling. But for the time being, we’d both better keep our cover and get through this night. Neither of us can attempt anything regarding that necklace or preventing the other from saving or ruining the day, depending on each of our interpretations — until Bonnie and Clyde are asleep. So for now, a truce is clearly the best course of action.” 

Flynn made sure his tone stayed as offensively mocking as ever, hoping she wouldn’t catch onto the fact that he rather liked the idea of getting to spend a night with her, close to her, pretending to be her lover, even. Flynn would never, ever harass Lucy in _that_ way, and the idea of making her ill at ease in his presence for such a reason was deeply abhorrent to him, running counter to his whole idea of manly honor. But he got to be here with her tonight, he got a break from being her enemy, and for the tiny little part of him that admitted how she made him feel, that was more than enough, more than he had ever expected.

“Ugh!” She complained, “Fine, works for me. Just don’t expect the truce to last past this night.”

Annoyingly but predictably, her bitter words stung. Why was she so sure he was one hundred percent evil, this woman who saw the best in everyone? Flynn wondered if she really wasn’t sure and that made her fight harder to act like she was convinced he was irredeemable. The truth was much more dangerous than either one of them, even on their most reckless days. That was a feeling to which Flynn could certainly relate.

“Don’t be so sure,” he said, piquing her curiosity as she scanned his inscrutable face. His mask was back on, but his words were naked. She couldn’t figure him out.

“So,” Clyde asked loudly as he and Bonnie came back inside, “Who’s hungry?”


	2. Chapter 2

“So, Flynn, how did you propose to Lucy here?” Bonnie asked, draping her arm around Clyde’s shoulder as the four of them sat around after dinner, sipping the almost corrosively-potent moonshine.

“Hmm?” Flynn asked, setting his glass aside and putting his hand down on his knee. 

Lucy watched him intently. Today, she’d started to notice the way he did that when he was nervous. He was determined to keep her investigation of him at bay, to be the one in control of any information about their future together which he chose to reveal, but he had his tells. Garcia Flynn, after all, was only human. She might have taken satisfaction from the fact, but instead, every chink in his armor only made her feel equally exposed, prone to unreasonable attractions and wants.

 _Stop it, Lucy, you’re not attracted to Flynn._ She snapped her brain back to reality, but he’d noticed her staring at his big hand pressing into his leg, and that same flicker of treacherous electricity sparked between them as their eyes met.

 _Shit._ She was definitely busted, again. It was like he could see right through her, but he wouldn’t let her in; she’d have to fight her way past his defenses to find the real Garcia Flynn. That was smart, right, to try and know your enemy? Yup, and decidedly less smart to find that the more you knew, the more insatiably you wanted to know every fascinating, heartrending detail about the very person you ought to despise.

“Look at the size of that diamond!” Bonnie giggled as Lucy examined her oft-forgotten engagement ring. Poor Noah. Between her ruefully fading infatuation-of-convenience with Wyatt and the repressed, passionate, forbidden hint of _something_ between herself and Flynn, Lucy often forgot Noah even existed back at home. She was there infrequently enough these days, and had so many other stresses and emotions pulling her in different directions, back and forth through time until almost nothing made sense.

“Only the best for my darling,” Flynn beamed, taking Lucy’s hand and fiddling gently with the ring as if out of habit. At the same time, he examined it more closely for the first time, his brow creasing slightly. 

The touch of his warm hand on her bare skin, even in so small and innocent a gesture, made her break out in a light sweat, her body tingly and weakening. Frustration, anger and desire tangled inside her as she forced a laugh. 

“Aren’t you going to tell them the story, honey?” She ran her thumb over his lifeline inside his palm and he shivered, looking at her more intensely. _Oh, God._

“Of course,” he smiled, never taking his eyes from her conflicted face even though he was supposed to be telling the tale to the others. Still, she made herself reason that his fixation on her helped to make their fake relationship seem more real to the others.

_And way too real to me._

“Well, I wanted to take her away somewhere special, somewhere lush, uncommon, rich with historical interest, somewhere she’d love,” Flynn began thoughtfully, his words starting slow as he formulated, then unfurling quickly, his accent layering every syllable with intoxicating seductiveness. “I wanted Lucy to have a vacation, to travel for enjoyment instead of doing so for work.”

“I hear ya, heist after heist can get heavy and tirin’,” Clyde put in, “But we can’t ever stay away from the jobs for too long. It’s an addiction, right, baby?”

“Shh, I wanna hear the story,” Bonnie reproved impatiently.

“She deserved a respite,” Flynn continued. “You see, she does so much for the people she loves, always putting them first. I wanted to put Lucy first, and I wanted to do that for the rest of my life.” Lucy’s eyes were wide and bright, her heart squeezing at his words. She shifted her posture, anything to wake herself up from this daze he had her in, but in her distracted movement, their knees brushed and she saw him swallow hard before he went on speaking.

“There’s a little town I know in Italy, and there they have this charming restaurant actually built into a cave, a grotto with tables overlooking the bluest waters you have ever seen.” Flynn gestured with his free hand, spreading it across the air as if he painted the scene before his listeners’ eager eyes.

“I ain’t never heard of nothin’ like that,” Bonnie breathed. Clyde grunted and slugged from his glass.

“Anywhere you wanna go, I’ll take you there, baby. Sky’s the limit for us.”

Their voices might as well have been hitting a brick wall, as little as Flynn or Lucy heeded their comments. 

“I was nervous,” Flynn chuckled quietly, “And they only let dinner customers stay there for two hours, then you have to leave, they have that many reservations. So, well, I knew when it got to be close to that time and the waiters began giving me pointed looks, I had to propose, it was now or never. All I wanted to _do_ was propose, but I was so scared…what if it wasn’t what Lucy wanted, too? It almost felt better not to know, but ultimately, as I looked at her, that stunning, unforgettable face, those gorgeous eyes, as she kept waiting, wondering what I was up to, knowing there was something on my mind, I gave into what I longed for. I knew then that the pain of her rejection would be worth the risk, if there was even a chance she might reciprocate, might think of me the way I can’t — I couldn’t stop thinking about her.”

Lucy took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his words falling over her like some thick hypnosis from which there could be no escape, from which she didn’t _want_ to escape. She just wanted to stay here with him in this fantasy, maybe even forever. Was this what it felt like to go insane, or was it something else altogether?

“Ooh! What’d you do then?” Bonnie asked, leaning forward to prop her chin in her hand as she listened with rapt attention.

“Well, I…may I show them?” Flynn asked Lucy politely. She nodded, surprised at his impeccably courtly manner, and he slid the ring off her finger, doing it slowly as if he savored every caress of his fingers over her skin. “I reached across the table and took her hand,” he explained, his voice throaty and thick with emotion, like the memory was real. As if it was happening right now, instead of in an imagined and impossible past. “And I just said the only thing I could think of, I said…’I love you.’” 

He went on gazing at her, his striking hazel-green eyes no longer mysterious, the feeling in them open and unguarded at last, a yearning which was so powerful, she couldn’t believe she’d been able to block it out of her own heart for so long. 

“And…I put the ring into her hand.” Flynn turned her hand palm-side up and placed the ring into it, then carefully closed her fingers over it before he leaned in and kissed them. Lucy could have melted, but she wanted him to know something with such a suddenly insistent need that she spoke heedlessly.

“Then I just said…yes,” Lucy added with a wobbly smile, brushing a tear away as Flynn lifted his face from her hand, the feeling of his kiss lingering on her fingers, heat coursing through her body as she struggled to revive herself from this crazy waking dream. “Of course, I said yes. I said, ‘Marry me, Garcia Flynn. I’ve always loved you.’”

“Well, of course you did!” Bonnie cooed, clapping her hands together and kissing Clyde square on the lips. “Oh, honey, wasn’t that just the most romantic thing you ever heard?”

“I’ll show you romantic,” Clyde murmured, pulling Bonnie into his lap for a deeper kiss.

Meanwhile, their guests were beside themselves with conflicted angst. Flynn let go of Lucy’s hand and stood up suddenly, as if he had to wrench himself away. He went to the little wooden table behind them and began gathering up the dishes from dinner, soon disappearing into the kitchen.

Lucy sat there for another few minutes, her heart beating so hard it almost hurt. 

Bonnie and Clyde were still making out across from her like the world was about to end and they’d go out of it happy as could be, oblivious to anything but their own desires. They were selfish and they’d even been cruel in their violent sprees, but there was something undeniably pure and beautiful in the love they shared. Lucy knew love couldn’t undo their multitude of awful crimes, but why did it suddenly seem so much more important than anything else? It couldn’t be, she knew it couldn’t. Then she realized she wasn’t really thinking about Bonnie and Clyde anymore, that she’d felt sick at heart and lonely since Flynn had gone into the other room, and there was only one remedy. She slid the ring back on her finger, but it seemed to have a new meaning now. The ring, in fact, seemed to _have _meaning for her, for the first time.__

__“You don’t have to run away from me,” she assured Flynn as she came into the kitchen and found him washing the dishes off like a model houseguest, his usually intimidating physique rendered strangely adorable by the domestic scenario. He’d doffed his dark brown jacket and tie, loosening his collar and rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt, over which he still wore his elegant vest. His chestnut hair was slightly disheveled, one lock falling across his forehead and making her ache to sweep it back, to stroke his face._ _

__He was handsome, tormentingly so, and made 1930’s fashion look just as damn good as he did the apparel of every other era. Lucy watched him, undisguisedly curious, and he gave her a quick, anxious glance over his shoulder._ _

__“I promise I won’t try to hold you to that engagement,” Lucy smiled, trying to relax him. Somehow, he seemed even more panicked by the intimacy they’d both felt in the other room than she was, and somehow, she _cared_ , wanted to soothe him. _ _

__She supposed that before tonight, she’d never let herself think closely enough about these feelings to fully understand them. Why, from the moment he’d cornered her the night of the Hindenburg, from the first time he warned her about Rittenhouse and showed her the journal, insisting he wasn’t the heartless killer they’d have her believe him, she’d instead believed _Flynn._ Why his horrible actions, journey after journey and mission after mission, hurt her so much. She knew there was a deep goodness in him and that he had been powerfully traumatized. She knew these reasons excused nothing, exonerated him from zero percent of his murders, his thefts, the havoc he’d wreaked on the timeline, to her life, her emotions, her stability. But bizarrely, he felt like her gravity tonight. She felt her axis righting, felt as though, if she could break down his walls, finally understand him, she would understand herself as well. She could find some fleeting sensation of peace. But right now, all that sang relentlessly through her body was excitement, uncontrollable excitement._ _

__She went over to him and stood with her back to the sink, close to him but not touching. “I mean, really.” Lucy babbled on as if Flynn had answered her, or even acknowledged her joke, when in fact, all he did was stare at her silently, wiping his damp hands and placing the towel aside. “You got desperate enough for escape that you came in here to _wash dishes_?” _ _

__“Well, they aren’t going to wash themselves,” he answered in a low, sexy tone, giving her that sly smile again. But just as quickly, the mischief faded from his face and he looked at her completely entranced. “I’m good at some normal things, Lucy. I know how to take care of a house, how to take care of a woman.”_ _

__“Oh!” Lucy said, her body responding helplessly at his insinuation. “I’m, I’m sure that you do…”_ _

__Flynn reached out to cup her face, lightly caressing her cheek as she caved to the never-ending temptation and reached up to stroke his hair back. That little tremor went through him again, as if he was under her power._ _

__“That story you told, was that the way you proposed to your wife?”_ _

__“No,” he said simply, sadly. There was so much pain in his eyes…grief over his family, guilt over his feelings for Lucy, confusion over how to hold himself together, hold himself to his dreadful, necessary plans. “I was thinking of you when I told that story, only you, Lucy.”_ _

__And just like that she knew she’d been falling for Garcia Flynn all along, that there was never a way to prevent it.__

 _“I knew then that the pain of her rejection would be worth the risk, if there was even a chance she might reciprocate, might think of me the way I can’t — I couldn’t stop thinking about her.”_ Flynn’s words from earlier haunted Lucy’s thoughts. He bent his face slightly, angling it perfectly for a kiss. The moment felt otherworldly, obscenely forbidden and exquisitely right at the same time. She rose up on her toes, sinking her fingers into his hair. 

__“Flynn,” she blurted, panicking all of a sudden, her other hand pressed to his chest. His heart was pounding. Lucy looked at him as if he could save her, either by kissing her or letting her go. Then she knew what it was she wanted, knew why she wanted him to close this infernal distance between them, but he only saw her fear._ _

__“I know,” he said, his voice raspy, his eyes guarded again, shutting her out, protecting himself from his own weakness, his attraction to Lucy and the inescapable fact of his humanity. “I know, we can’t. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” He took his hands off of her, and immediately she felt cold, regretting her hesitation._ _

__“Flynn, it’s okay,” she rushed to tell him, but he walked across the room to the door and spoke without looking at her._ _

__“They’ve been drinking pretty heavily. They won’t be able to stay awake much longer,” Flynn predicted with a mirthless smile. “Our truce is almost at an end.” He said this as if it would be good news to her, a relief. And then he walked away._ _


	3. Chapter 3

To Lucy and Flynn’s mutual chagrin, Bonnie and Clyde did _not_ soon fall into an inebriated slumber. Instead, they went to bed only to express their affection with a quite audible and growing enthusiasm.

On the other side of the sheet suspended between the two narrow beds, Lucy and Flynn lay flat on their backs, their shoulders and arms touching inevitably, both of them caught up in dread at realizing that the hijinks in the other bed weren’t stopping any time soon.

Flynn started in surprise when Lucy suddenly let out a quiet little snort of laughter.

“What?” he asked, and she shifted her body back a little, lying on her side to give him a bit more room. The posture emphasized her cleavage in her lacy white slip, but he tried not to let his admiring gaze linger too long. 

“Look at you,” Lucy laughed, “This is like the worst disaster possible for you in terms of a sleeping arrangement — what is this, a _twin_ bed? You look like a grumpy giant right now.”

“What? I can fit,” he argued feebly as she noticed that one of his long legs was actually hanging off the edge of the bed.

She giggled again, that beautifully musical, utterly free laugh that he wanted to hear more often. He wished she could always be that simply happy, wished he hadn’t caused her so much strife, and that instead of being the cause of the trouble in her life, he could be her comfort, the place her heart called home, where she knew she would always be safe and cherished. 

“Come on, don’t be ridiculous,” she insisted, reaching out to pull him closer as he rolled on his side, leaving them face to face. Immediately, she looked as if she got more than she bargained for, but she remained committed to her plan to rescue him from toppling onto the floor. “There, that’s better.” 

“Well, I guess the bed size works out okay since you’re so tiny,” Flynn reasoned with amusement. “It all evens out.”

“Me? I’m not tiny,” Lucy argued, blushing.

“Compared to me you are,” he corrected her, and though they weren’t touching now, there was something so inappropriately sensuous about his statement that she blushed more deeply. Flynn couldn’t resist adding, “But still, you’re not afraid of me.”

It was true. Arousing, crazy, and true. He could see it written all over her gorgeously honest face: although she was lying in a bed with her worst enemy, a man so much bigger than her that he ought to be an imposing adversary, a threat, she never shrank back. She wasn’t at all apprehensive that he would hurt her in any way. And of course, he wouldn’t. He’d only been kidding himself all along that he’d be willing to retaliate against her if she got in his way; in fact, he thought he would horrifically pulverize anyone who ever tried to harm her. 

Lucy, it seemed, did not think he was truly evil, and the understanding filled him with a joy he never could have anticipated. He really did want her to see him, the real him, the man he used to be, and the one he wished he could be for her. 

She thought about what he’d said, looking from his earnest eyes to his broad, powerful upper body, the sculpted biceps bared by his white undershirt, and finally she shook her head. 

“No, I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of what you’ll do to stop Rittenhouse. I’m afraid of the way I feel when I’m close to you and it’s too impossible to hate you. But not…not _you_.” Lucy’s fingers fluttered over his heart as he watched her in amazement, gradually resting his hand over hers very gently. There was a raw tenderness between them, taking them both back into their shared dream where such feelings were alright, even forgivable…too strong to fight, killing the will to try before it could fully manifest.

The heady moment between them was broken by the louder sounds of pleasure emanating from Bonnie and Clyde’s bed, and Lucy looked mortified as she and Flynn both realized that the way the couple’s voices were rising gradually, the way the bedsprings creaked in a steadily building rhythm, could only mean one thing.

“But we’re right here,” she said, scandalized as Flynn felt his cheeks getting hot, his body taut, alert, over-sensitive. “They wouldn’t possibly…would they?” 

Lucy was _so_ close, he could smell the rose-petal-softness of her glossy dark hair, could breathe in the natural scent of her skin blended with the sweet hint of vanilla left by her soap…God, now he was thinking of her in the shower…this was killing him. Her delicate fingers were still planted knowingly on his thundering heartbeat, right at that place in his chest where his chaotic breathing was also all too evident. She stared at his hand over hers as he enveloped her in his steady, comforting, anxious touch, and then her shining, seductively inquisitive eyes were scanning his face again, silently asking him to trust her, let her in. 

“Oh, God, baby,” Bonnie cried out as Clyde groaned ecstatically. 

Flynn tried to chuckle to take the edge off the tension between himself and Lucy, but the sound died in his throat as she shimmied even nearer to him, watching him intently. He let his hand travel up from her hand to her pretty, vulnerable wrist, up to her elbow, her satiny-smooth shoulder, the elegant curve of her pale neck. His tentative, exploratory touch caused Lucy to sigh, the sound like a flower opening up at his command. He raked his fingers lightly through her hair, then clasped her face as she went on looking at him, immersed in his lost boy eyes. 

It had been a very long time since Flynn had had sex, time he’d spent repressing the lustful side of himself entirely, having to smother it as best he could every time he laid eyes on Lucy Preston. And now he could barely handle this deep-seated yearning brought into such sharp focus. The moments slinked by seemingly in slow motion as the combination of her supple body leaning into his touch and the sounds of the other couple’s thrusting and panting had his whole body tensing, dying to make love to Lucy. 

He squeezed his eyes shut to control the impulse, guilty and confused. It would be wrong to unleash all that fiery, pent-up craving on Lucy under such fraught circumstances, wouldn’t it? After all, she was trusting him. He was unspeakably lucky that she let him indulge in the slightest show of affection. Flynn had to control himself, but instead every second had him falling apart more visibly.

“Flynn, what is it?” she asked, her voice heartbreakingly soft and needy as she brushed the back of her hand against his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw her looking back at him with that same desperation he felt, and then his lips were on hers, her arms around him, her hands urging him on top of her. 

Lucy kissed him back with breathless fervor as he settled between her thighs, the heat between their two bodies growing unbearable, her tongue sliding inside his mouth, the soft mounds of her breasts pushed against his firm chest. Flynn gave a quietly intense growl and pinned one of her wrists down, kissing her sweet lips over and over again, grabbing her ass in his free hand to press her center to his thick hard-on. He was drowning in her kiss, her luscious lips and the daring sweep of her clever tongue against his own. The mere _idea_ that she could respond to him like this was more than he could handle, much less the reality, sending erotic shockwaves through his body until he was so hard for her that his throbbing member strained insistently against his borrowed pajama pants.

She moaned right into his mouth, a sinful, depraved moan echoing against his throat as the taste of her surrender made him dizzy. And if the other couple were still going at it so nearby, it didn't matter, for once again they may as well have been a million miles away. This was special, personal, completely intimate. It was Lucy and Flynn, impetuous, deliriously bound, common sense and the rest of the world be damned.

“God, I want you, Lucy,” Flynn sighed, his mouth hot against her neck as he held her hand firmly down on the bed and squeezed her exquisite ass, rubbing his erection against her again. She gave a sharp mewl and wrapped one shapely, naked leg around him, grabbing him even closer while she met his grinding motion with reciprocal friction. “I’ve always wanted you,” he admitted, his voice as rough and uncontrolled as his feelings. 

“Take my slip off,” she begged him immediately, writhing in his grip only because she needed to be skin to skin with him, needed the utmost contact with his body as her desire rendered her messily greedy. The presence of clothing between them had become an infuriating impediment.

“Lucy,” he warned huskily, wanting to protect her from whatever the fallout of this encounter would be, but she rested her finger on his lips as he looked up at her, his bright eyes taking in her swollen lips, rumpled hair, and the absolute determination in her whole expression. 

“Don’t stop,” she said, her voice low and blunt. Her fingers slid under his shirt, rubbing over his back just before she let her nails sink in and drag, the pressure intensifying his arousal until he could just about breathe. “Show me how you want me, Flynn.”

He couldn’t refuse her, not when his whole being cried out to be one with her at all costs. She raised her arms to help him ease the slip off of her, and then he gasped as her body was bared to him, her ripe, full, creamy breasts, the smooth curve of her belly as she sucked in a nervous breath, feeling the power of his gaze. The fabric at the front of her thin, nude-colored panties was visibly damp, and through them he could begin to make out the lines of her fragrant sex. Every aspect of this vision made him tremble, his body aching to take her hard and deep. 

Lucy peeled his shirt off and continued her one-woman crusade to drive him euphorically mad, roving her hands all over his shoulders, arms and back, shoving his pants down and immediately grabbing his ass. Her movements grew bolder the more he groaned and kissed her mouth with demanding heat. With her trust, her beauty, her soul, she was freeing his aggression as if it was what she needed most.

“Yes,” Lucy whispered feverishly, pulling his hair as he kissed and licked at her nipples, sucking and lapping the stiff pink peaks. Flynn was a devoted connoisseur of her every minute taste, every different way she felt and reacted the more he went on loving her. He sighed as he kissed his way down her stomach and felt the rapid intake of her breaths, his hands still squeezing her breasts and teasing her nipples. Then he let go of them, only so that he could grasp her hips, marveling at her ravishing curves, graceful and fragile as porcelain, yet lush and womanly as her intense desire. 

“You’re unbelievably beautiful,” he breathed against her skin just before he bit her hip and made her lower body buck up automatically. 

“Please,” she panted, thighs shaking as he began to caress and kiss them, guiding them apart with adoring attentiveness to her quivering. He knew he should be gentle but firm, very firm, and so he bit her again, that ever-so-sensitive spot just at the very top of her thigh, then he lavished his broad tongue over her pussy through her gauzy panties. Lucy yanked harder on his hair, her voice thin but emphatic. “Please, Flynn, I need you.” 

He slid her underwear off, stroking his rugged hands over the silky skin of her legs as she gasped, clinging to the pillow. Then he kissed her glistening pussy, licking between her slick folds with worshipful dedication to her pleasure. She moaned and held the pillow tighter, her hips rising and falling like ocean waves in time with his lapping and sucking, until she grabbed his shoulders and pulled at him, pulled him back up so that his flushed face hovered over hers again. It wasn’t enough; she wanted more and now. He nodded, cupping her cheek and rubbing his thumb over her lower lip, spreading it possessively. 

“I wanna fuck you now,” he said, his voice gravelly, his eyes darker and hungrier than ever. “Want” had never seemed like such a weak and insubstantial word to him before. It didn’t even approach how much he longed for her, but then, he thought this feeling must be beyond language, almost beyond understanding, only expressible through complete loss of control. Lucy’s legs were shaking so hard that he was moved to caress them, soothing her as she gasped at his words.

“Yes,” she sighed, clutching his back harder as he reached down to slick his engorged member against her dripping entrance. He sank his teeth into her neck, pushing his cock deeper inside her as she whimpered ecstatically, holding onto him for dear life. After sucking the place on her skin he’d punctured with his teeth, Flynn licked her clavicle, then claimed her mouth again as he pulled out a few inches to thrust back in deeper than before, his thickness filling her so powerfully that she gasped in surprise. 

He groaned between kisses, overcome by the sensation of her warm and willing body pressed nakedly to his own, rapturous at the feel of her tight pussy hugging his rigid arousal. On and on, he gave her his love, holding her close, devouring her cries as he began to thrust harder and faster. 

Flynn increased the tempo between them until her nails sank fiercely into his back, her hips jutting up as her cunt squeezed his erection. She broke off from his lips only to stare at him with her mouth wide open, a silent scream in response to her orgasm, the sight of it striking him so profoundly that he couldn’t hold out any longer himself. 

“Oh, God… _fuck_ …” his voice was a wet, raspy echo into her shoulder as he exploded inside her, spasming against her body, his thumb pressing tightly into the soft skin over her hip. “Lucy,” he moaned as her breaths came heavy, a tear sliding down her cheek as she held him, comforting him in the throes of his pleasure. Everything she did was everything he needed. Flynn didn’t know how this kind of happiness could ever exist in his life again after what he’d been through, what he’d done…how could she care for him like this? 

“Lucy,” he said, more beckoningly, snuggling her against his chest, her petite, shaking form nestling into him as if they were shaped and made for each other. He pulled the sheet up and smoothed it over her shoulder, kissing her forehead as she rubbed her cheek against him. As he stroked the tangled hair back from her damp brow, he noticed that their scents had completely intermingled, that he could pick up more than a hint of his own spicy aftershave mixed into the sugary rose-and-vanilla aroma on her mussed locks and dewy skin. As they cuddled up together, Flynn began to feel lulled into an irresistibly deep slumber, one that promised actual rest for the first time in ages. 

“Hey, are y’all finally gonna keep it down over there?” Clyde called out in annoyance, while Bonnie giggled and tried to hush him. “ _Jesus_ ,” he added accusingly, but Lucy and Flynn didn’t hear a thing. They were already fast asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Lucy woke with a start at the crack of dawn when Flynn nudged her carefully, sliding his knee against hers and then tickling her belly until she groaned in irritation and batted his hand away. 

“Hey, no tickling, that’s so unfair,“ Lucy argued as she broke from the haze of blissful sleep and grabbed his hand, staring at it with bleary eyes. 

_Flynn._ She looked up at his mischievous smile and felt a surge of immediate arousal challenging her sensibly mortified reaction to waking up with him like this.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to let you sleep later, but we just don’t have the time,” Flynn explained, as if this situation was entirely normal. God, she loved his smug side, his arrogance. She adored it, hated it, and it made her want to ride him. _Dammit!_

“Oh, no, no, no,” Lucy sighed dejectedly, sitting up and drawing her knees to her chest as the sheet fluttered around her. Flynn sat up as well, propping the pillows behind his back and taking up almost all the room in the bed, not that she’d minded last night —

_Last night…_

The tiny bed size hadn’t mattered when they’d spent all their time on top of each other…

“Oh, God,” she moaned into her hands. “I can’t believe we did that.”

“Why, Lucy?” He shrugged. Smug, goddammit, obnoxiously smug, ridiculously sexy. He sat there perfectly at ease with his nudity, the sheet resting low on his hips. She dragged her eyes back up to see him lift his brows, a naughty fake innocence etched across his handsome face.

“Because! I don’t _do_ that with just anyone, Flynn, ever! I— it means I — no. I can’t have feelings for you.” Her lips wobbled and he leaned forward to brush his thumb against them, evoking numerous very dirty memories and making her quiver just that easily. 

“Okay,” he nodded, and she sighed in aggravation, leaning into his palm as he cupped her cheek. 

“But I do, you know I do. It’s so wrong. I must be losing my mind.” She frowned and saw a faint flicker of hurt cross his face before he gave her an understanding smile. 

It was still very new to her, the way he’d opened up and allowed her to see his true emotions. Even though Flynn took responsibility for the reasons why she felt such trepidation about being with him, he regretted those reasons. And if he felt a painful shame in them, there was still nothing he could do to change it. He had been willing to sacrifice everything good in himself and every chance he might have had to rebuild his life, all in order to save his family and take the enemy out before the world was ruined by Rittenhouse’s brutally elitist master plan. Now she couldn’t bear to let him sink away into that darkness, and even though it was more than problematic to keep him close to her, she felt compelled to do so with all her might.

“Well, can you take a break from your personal crisis? I want to ask you something,” he said archly, licking his lips and sitting back, crossing his arms. 

Would he please. Stop. Being. So. Hot. Lucy’s face was starting to get into such a habit of blushing that she was surprised he still noticed her pink cheeks with the same satisfaction each time. He always looked surprised, but flattered…distracted…

 _Last night…_ Damn.

Lucy cleared her throat. “What?”

“Well, I want to renegotiate the terms of our truce,” he proposed smoothly.

“No, we cannot ‘renegotiate the terms of our truce’,” she parroted back mockingly, whisper-yelling at him. “There’s no way I’m letting you get Bonnie’s necklace to use as another clue to go find some more people to kill, some more history to distort in your usual reckless tirade!”

“But…you like our truce, don’t you, Lucy?” Flynn reached out to take her hand again, rubbing her knuckles as her eyes widened. “I love our truce.”

 _Fucking hell._

“What?” She fumbled for words to put to this craziness, but blurted onward anyway. “No! I mean, come on, Flynn, yes, I have feelings for you, and _yes_ , you are really, _really_ good at sex—“

“Why, thank you, Lucy,” he put in proudly. “You’re extremely talented yourself.”

“Oh, shut up,” she chided. “Yes, all of that is true, but we cannot be partners. Not in this,” she jerked her thumb at the sheet between the beds, indicating Bonnie and Clyde. “Or anything. You know, I have my own team, who are probably worried sick about me right now.”

“Serves them right,” he shrugged, but she cut him off again.

“I said shut up,” Lucy continued, “Plus, you and I have different ways of fighting Rittenhouse, by which I mean, completely morally opposed ways. I am not going to compromise my ethics to go along with you on some historical joyride, if that’s what you had in mind.”

“I don’t want you to compromise your ethics,” he answered easily, “Not for anything, and certainly not for me. Now, all I’m proposing is this: let’s try working together. Remember, it’s been foretold—“

“If you bring up that journal again, I’m going to scream,” she warned.

He clucked his tongue. She was going to murder him. “That would be counterproductive, Lucy. at least hear me out,” he requested with annoying politeness. “We’re meant to be partners, in my humble interpretation of things. So give me a chance, let’s see if it’s true. I have an idea about the necklace and what to do once we have it.”

“Okay, what’s your brilliant plan?” she asked grumpily, hoping against hope that for once, it wasn’t a murdery plan.

Flynn smiled pointedly and reached over to the small table beside the bed, pulling out a small pouch which he’d taken out of his trousers’ pocket before retiring for the night. “I had a duplicate made,” he announced, pouring a necklace into Lucy’s hand. It was identical to the key-shaped pendant which hadn’t left Bonnie’s neck since they met her.

“Smart,” Lucy allowed.

“Don’t look so surprised; after all, I am much more skilled with going undercover on time traveling missions and pulling off sneaky moves than you are.”

“Are you nuts? Never mind, don’t answer that, of course you are.” She scowled as he smothered a laugh. “Hey! I’m way better at it than you. I mean, at least I made an effort to sound like I’m from around here when we met those two yesterday. You didn’t even bother!”

“People love my Croatian accent; it actually helps me to endear myself to everyone around me,” he claimed.

“People don’t love your accent,” Lucy scoffed. He leaned over and placed his mouth right at her ear.

“ _You_ especially love my accent,” Flynn murmured, sending a pleasurable current through her body as her fingers dug into the sheets.

"Hmm? I--yes, it's very...nice," she stuttered out helplessly. "Stop changing the subject."

“Alright," he said, drawing back with a know-it-all expression, "It’s simple, Lucy. You use your delicately nimble little fingers to get that necklace off of Bonnie and replace it with this one. I will take us home to 2016 in the Mothership and bring you directly to a place where we’ll uncover the meaning which this fascinating bauble holds to Rittenhouse’s whole endeavor. And as I come up with a plan to follow up on whatever we may learn, you can decide if you want to join me for the next ride, help me to snuff them out for good. Or, if you want to run along back to Wyatt and Rufus so that you can pretend to wanna stop me. _Again._ ”

“Oh, please. _If_ I help you and let you show me whatever the next clue is, _we_ will come up with a follow-up plan, together. Partners, wasn’t that what you said?” She thrust her hand out at him formally and he grinned at the adorable gesture.

“Partners,” he agreed, shaking her hand firmly. “And now, Professor, shall we?”

Hurriedly, they got dressed again and went about their plan, with Lucy easing the necklace off of Bonnie while the other woman fortuitously happened to shift in her sleep, making it easier to undo the clasp and whisk the chain upwards. Trying not to get too nervous, knowing that would be the kiss of death, Lucy slid the duplicate necklace around Bonnie’s neck and fastened it, then crept away, meeting Flynn outside. 

“We’ll have to drive fast,” he suggested as she climbed into the passenger seat of Bonnie and Clyde’s getaway car. “And take backroads. The cops will be looking for this bucket of bolts. Luckily, the Mothership isn’t far.”

They made a clean getaway, and as she flung herself distractedly into one of the seats on the Mothership, Lucy held Bonnie’s necklace up, peering at an engraving on the golden key.

“There’s something written here, in Latin,” she mused as Flynn watched her with interest, then strapped her into her harness while she read aloud. “ _’the beginning of all time and the end of all time,'_ " she read.

“Intriguing,” Flynn noted, “And threatening.”

“Exactly. _Very_ Rittenhouse,” Lucy agreed.

“Let’s find out what it really means,” he suggested, adjusting her harness to fit her just right, then squeezing her knee in a soothing gesture. She finally relaxed and gave him a grateful smile. Even in the midst of the chaos swirling around and within them, he really did know how to take care of her.

**********************************************************************

Once they got back, Lucy brought Flynn home so that she could get some fresh clothes. They each took a shower while the other kept a lookout for Noah or her mom, though luckily neither of them appeared. 

Flynn threw on the black t-shirt and jeans which he’d rushed to grab from his hideout once they’d landed the Mothership. He sat down to put on his socks and boots, but inevitably got distracted looking around at Lucy’s home. He nearly put his shoes on the wrong feet as the photos of Lucy and Noah with their arms around each other made his heart lurch with an aggressive jealousy. He shook his head, feeling at once how absurd it was to care that in some other life she had been happy with this man. That was nothing compared to how he felt about the way Wyatt looked at her. He stood up to stuff his hands in his pockets as he paced, waiting for Lucy to emerge.

“You okay?” she asked as she came in at last, still toweling off her wet hair though she was fully dressed in a plain, long-sleeved black shirt and matching trousers. 

“I’m fine,” he affirmed, his slightly worried expression fading into amusement at the sight of her. “Is this your stealth outfit?”

“What? It’s appropriate attire for heading off into the night to engage in a shady op with Garcia Flynn.” She smiled proudly, annihilating him with her cuteness. “Don’t you think I can pull off the look?” 

Lucy gave a little turn, showing off the snug fit of her pants and causing him to stop her short with his fast, strong hands. He pulled her body flush against his as her hands landed merrily on his chest.

“You make it look perfect,” Flynn assured her, raking his eyes from her suddenly flustered expression to the cleavage revealed by the low scoop of her shirt. 

“Come on,” she murmured, “Where are you taking me? We have to get out of here before my mom or Noah show up. Even in these outfits, they’ll still see us.”

Her joke made him chortle, then he planted a quick kiss on her lips. “Bring this,” he told her as he placed Bonnie’s necklace around her neck, a gesture of total trust. “We’re going to need it.”

After he drove her to a posh neighborhood about twenty minutes away from her own house, Lucy looked at him in bafflement when he parked in front of a stately but abandoned-looking home with all the lights out.

“Whose house is this?” she asked him in an urgently demanding whisper, following him to the door, which he unlocked as if he owned the place. 

“Let’s go,” he answered softly, declining to answer until she grabbed his arm and forced his gaze to hers.

“Flynn! Whose house is this? Who did you kill to get access to this place?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed dismissively. “Why do you always assume they’re nice?”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she replied as he flicked the lights on in a huge, fancy entranceway, leading her across marble floors beneath vaulted ceilings through a lavish dining room with a table that looked like it sat fifty, and then into the biggest, most elegant home library she’d ever seen. The study was composed of wall-to-wall bookshelves, replete with mint first editions, a sight which normally would have kept her busy for hours.

As Flynn strode to an elaborate golden clock displayed on the desk, he answered her in an absurdly holier-than-thou huff. “Well, you know perfectly well, Lucy, that the vast majority of people I’ve killed have been pretty vile sons of bitches, without whom the world will be much better—“

“ _You killed Abraham Lincoln!_ ” She pointed out in complete exasperation, but he faced her again, hands perched on his hips, unfazed.

“He was going to be assassinated within the next few seconds anyway! That totally doesn’t count!” There was something so morbidly hilarious about Flynn’s attempt to defend himself that she found it impossible to keep arguing.

“Yes, it does,” Lucy insisted, trying to keep a straight face. “But at least I’m here now to keep an eye on you. Now, what’s the deal with that clock?”

Flynn took the necklace from Lucy’s neck and then inserted its key into a small lock near the face of the clock. Immediately, the device opened up to reveal a hidden tray. “Would you like to do the next honors?” he asked cordially, nodding at the tray, prompting Lucy to remove the tiny piece of paper which had been neatly rolled up inside it.

He leaned in close to her as they both perused the letter, rushing over every eloquent cursive word until they reached a natural conclusion about their next mission. “1780,” Lucy sighed, “Right in the thick of the Revolutionary War, of course. Fun.”

“Everything’s fun with you, Lucy,” Flynn smiled, making her melt. 

“Wait, what about my team, I’ve got to tell them where we’re going and why—“ Lucy tried to imagine how they would respond to her current gambit and winced in anticipation of even trying to explain.

“I don’t think so — what did you say when you texted them earlier?” he asked, intrigued.

“Just some ridiculous story about how I was following you to figure out your next move and that I was totally safe and they shouldn’t worry about me,” she explained ruefully. She was one hundred percent positive that Wyatt, Rufus and Jiya were most likely _very_ worried about her indeed, while Mason and Christopher would be livid at her taking the initiative to do something like that without their clearance.

“Nice. A more expedient way to keep them off our backs than telling them that you and I are working together. Let them find out for themselves when they inevitably chase us back in time,” Flynn suggested. Lucy cringed again.

“This sucks, Flynn. I feel like I’m betraying them. But I also know I’ve got to see this through with you. I think we can follow this lead to the root of Rittenhouse’s origin and finally put an end to them.” She chewed her fingertip restlessly, and he pulled her hand gently down, smiling reassuringly.

“But still…you don’t want to compromise your ethics. I understand that Lucy, but the fact that you’re even thinking along these lines shows that you _are_ a good person, the…the best person I know.” His voice was husky, his eyes gleaming with affectionate concern. “You make the tough calls, you know the greater good. Let’s chase it together.”

She nodded, gathering her strength from his words. “Yeah. Okay, let’s do this.”


	5. Chapter 5

“No,” Lucy snipped as Flynn sulked. They stood out in the shadowy, frigid woods of Colonial New York as he relented, sliding his gun back inside his holster.

“Lucy, if you think we’re going to get through this mission without getting blood on our hands, that’s just — perilously unrealistic,” he argued. “At least if I pose as Austin Roe, we can get General Washington to trust us faster, we can get to Benedict Arnold, _faster_. The only way to pull it off is to kill the man I have to impersonate.”

Lucy let out a long, exasperated breath, turning to see him watching her not with anger, but with frustration at her resistance to his usual way of doing things. 

“Flynn, when you brought me here, you knew this was going to happen. You knew that I would help you, but I would also challenge your every move.” She took him by the lapels of his long black coat, staring up into his supplicating eyes as his hands came to rest at her waist. She was his safety and somehow, he was hers as well. 

They could get through this, they could win, Lucy could feel it. He’d been leaning into her every corrective remark about avoiding violence, and not only because he couldn’t say no to her. Lucy had to admit to herself that his inability to refuse her anything was part of the change in him, and even that she liked it, _very_ much. But it was more than that.

“You want this,” she murmured, tugging affectionately on his lapels as he bit his lip and averted his eyes to the ground, that stubborn lock of hair falling back across his brow. 

“Hey,” she said soothingly, “Look at me. You want this. You want to be better. You want me to stop you from killing people who don’t need to die. You, Garcia Flynn, are a good man. You’re going to stop seeing people’s lives as collateral damage and murder as a means to an end, and you’re going to believe in me when I say, you _can_ do this.”

“I wanna be that guy for you, Lucy, that hero, but I don't know if I can,” he said worriedly as she tipped his face back to her, going up on her toes to kiss his lips. 

“I know you can. I know who you are,” she whispered, and then he kissed her again, firm and deep, pressing her back against a nearby tree and holding her delicate face in both of his hands.

A shiver went through her as his warm lips contrasted with the chilly air that had left her ungloved hands sore and stiff. Now her fingertips found a cozy respite inside his coat, gliding up over his shoulder blades as he proved once again that when it came to Lucy, his mouth was utterly insatiable. 

“Every time we do that, it gets harder to _stop_ ,” Flynn sighed, pressing his forehead to hers, then pulling her periwinkle cloak more snugly around her shoulders. He shook his head, dissatisfied at the feel of the thin wool against her cold skin. Whipping his coat off, he placed it around her as she smiled, blissfully weak at the feel of his body heat still clinging to the jacket, the scent of peppermint and sandalwood emanating from the collar.

“I don’t want you to stop. When you’re not kissing me, I’m _thinking_ about you kissing me,” she admitted haltingly. “I’m thinking about your mouth…” she went on, tracing his lips as he opened them, watching her intently. “Your tongue…” Flynn licked her finger, then sucked it as her pussy squeezed with an aching need. “Your teeth…” he nipped her fingertip and she could have fainted. “All over me,” she concluded shakily. He held her by her waist, encompassing her in his darkly aroused gaze. 

Lucy stared shamelessly up at him as he kissed her fingers, her palm, her wrist, savoring the pulse point which was just one of the parts of her ceaselessly throbbing for him.

“I wish I could stop time and just keep things between us the way they are now,” Flynn said, his lips traveling slowly over her forehead and down to her cheeks. “Before we have to think again, before reality intrudes…before anyone else gets to say a damn thing about us being together…you can’t imagine how much I want that, Lucy.”

“It’ll be okay,” she answered, knowing perfectly well he wasn’t convinced. His face revealed an ominous conviction that something would part them, but he ought to know by now that when she had her heart set on anything, nothing could stand in her way. She wondered if he really understood how much she felt for him…would he let himself believe he could deserve it, deserve happiness again? 

“Alright,” he sighed, his breath puffing out into the air that felt cold enough to freeze it. “We’ll try the pacifist approach -- that is, until I have no choice but to kill. I’ve never lied to you, Lucy, and I won’t start now. In the meantime, how are we going to get into Washington’s good graces without a decent cover story?”

“Easy,” she elaborated as they started walking again, their fingers interlaced with a casually comforting touch that made this entire adventure seem a lot less terrifying to her. “I said we’re not going to _kill_ Roe. I never said we couldn’t knock him out, tie him up, hide him and still have you pose as him.”

“Lucy," he objected, "At least if I shoot him and get it over with, it will be fast and merciful. What you’re proposing comes with lots of problems. What if someone finds and frees Roe while I’m still out there claiming to be him? What’s more, we have no way of knowing when we can get back to free Roe, meaning he could very well starve before we do. And that is not a merciful way to kill someone, however indirect.”

“Fine, I can see why your usual method seems more sensible,” she allowed, slipping her arm through his. “But Roe has two brothers here, Nathanial and Phillip, and they’re also involved in Washington’s secret spy ring. When the time is right, we can send word of Austin’s location to them so they can free him, _and_ feed him. If someone finds him before that, we just have to hope we don't get busted. It's not worth killing a man over.”

“That’s a lot to do and almost no time to do it in,” he pointed out, brow creased, certainly not fool enough to think that would give her pause. 

Lucy nodded, injecting her determination with all the confidence she could muster. “Then I guess we’d better get moving.”

*************************************************************************

They executed Lucy’s plan, then headed to Washington’s home, where they were graciously welcomed as the General trustingly confided to “Austin Roe” about the recent, terribly shocking betrayal of Benedict Arnold.

“If you have _any_ information on where to find that deceptive scoundrel, I’d be more than grateful,” Washington said anxiously within the private sanctum of his office. 

“Ah. We came here hoping that you and your men had a lead on Arnold’s current location,” Flynn sighed. 

Beside him, Lucy was still a bit overwhelmed with excitement at actually being in George Washington’s presence. The future president had accepted her cover identity as a spy cohort of Roe’s with casual ease, respectfully and gratefully accustomed to women playing an active role in the war against the British. Now, with Washington’s cluelessness as to Arnold’s hiding place revealed, Lucy fell back down to Earth. 

She’d seen and even identified with the cold steel hardening in Flynn’s eyes the moment he learned that Arnold was a founding member of Rittenhouse. With this latest setback, Flynn’s jaw twitched, though he remained otherwise the perfect picture of calm coolness. 

“We’ll prevail fastest if we work together,” Lucy suggested, her voice sounding way too loud in her own ears. Well, it was fairly normal to be nervous when addressing George freaking Washington! She gave an encouraging smile as the men looked over at her and Washington nodded. _George Washington agrees with me!_

“Yes, I think that if we pool the resources of my army and your connections in the Culper ring, we can track the bastard down before he does anything else to sabotage our cause,” General Washington agreed. “We'll compile theories on his potential locations and split up to investigate them. I’ll just order some refreshments for us so that you and my troops are hearty and robust going out into this blasted cold. Damned unseasonable for September, I must say.” He left the room to call his servants.

“Did you hear that? George Washington totally just based his plan for tonight on my idea,” Lucy enthused, bobbing up and down on her heels and turning brightly excited eyes on Flynn. All at once, his rigid nervousness evaporated.

“Well, it was a good idea, Lucy, my endlessly brilliant Professor,” Flynn smiled. “Still, you know it might take us a while to find Arnold. Too long, with Roe still alive, a ticking time bomb for us to get busted in our fake identities…”

“Then we’ll have to do a really great job of hunting him down,” Lucy remarked. “I happen to have some pretty ‘brilliant’ leads on the subject, I’ll have you know.” She lowered her voice and stepped into his personal space.

“I know where the British are camped out,” Lucy whispered. “And it's a damn solid bet that's where Arnold's holed up. We need horses and supplies for the journey, which Washington can provide. Plus, he keeps some extra redcoat uniforms around in case anyone needs to go undercover, which you will.”

“Hmm.” He grinned, nuzzling his nose against hers as his mouth so nearly brushed her own that her breath caught in anticipation. Every kiss was like the first, she marveled.

“There’s just one issue, though, you’re going to need to pretend to be British…can you do that?” She spoke the words against his lips, sliding her hand up the back of his neck to play with his hair.

“I most certainly can, Ms. Preston,” Flynn said in a huskily posh British accent, setting her skin tingling as he smoothed his hands over the sides of her breasts and stomach, eventually resting his naughty fingers at her low back. “How about you?”

“I don’t need to do an English accent; I’m going to be your wretched Colonist-spy prisoner, and the perfect way for you to get a private audience with Arnold,” Lucy informed him. “But if I _did_ need to be British, I could do an absolutely marvelous job.” She spoke the last words in a jaunty accent that made him laugh.

“What?” Lucy complained, “It’s good.”

“No, it’s not, it’s really not,” Flynn chortled, all of his stress ebbing away the more he let himself be in the moment with her. “It’s awful, you sound like Mary Poppins on helium, and I—“ Flynn hesitated, and she could tell he’d very nearly blurted something important. But whatever he’d almost said had frightened him, made him stall with an awkward clearing of his throat.

“And…what?” Lucy asked softly as their laughs died away. Unbuttoning his maroon vest, she placed her hand on his heart, a move that had come by now to wordlessly symbolize her need to feel his emotions, to be as close to them as he would let her come.

His heart skittered at her touch, his hands moving to her shoulders as if to steady himself. “Flynn?”

“It’s just that I…” He gave her a smile no one would have believed if they hadn’t seen it with their own eyes, his whole face full of such sweetness, all for her. “I love you, Lucy.”

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathed, feeling she’d burst into tears in the unbelievable, life-changing fragility of the moment. “Flynn, I—“

“That’s okay,” he rushed to assure her, kissing the tears that slipped from her fluttering lashes and onto her hot cheeks. His heart continued to beat fast and almost frantic against her palm as she flattened it to his chest through his shirt. “You don’t have to say anything, you don’t have to feel it too, I just…couldn’t hold it back.”

Lucy wanted to say something, wanted to gather her giddy, exhilarated, besotted feelings into a cogent reply worthy of his confession, but before she could get herself together and speak again, Flynn had changed the subject, anxiously trying to deflect attention from the enormity of his previous words.

“So, um, you look amazing, by the way, I think I forgot to tell you.” His mouth twitched nervously, and he was too adorable for words.

“Thanks,” Lucy smiled, glancing down at the dress she wore beneath Flynn's open coat. It was a dark emerald silk frock, but the color shifted subtly when light hit it, revealing hidden shades of gold and bronze that flickered and danced fetchingly. 

“The color reminded me of your eyes,” she said softly and he looked at her, immediately overwhelmed. “That’s why I chose this one. It’s, um…” She sucked her lower lip into her mouth for just a moment, then finished the truthful, heartfelt sentence. “It’s my favorite color.”

Flynn’s face lit up at the realization that she could hardly have said any more clearly, “ _I love you, too._ ” 

Suddenly, the door opened behind them again. Washington reentered with several of his officers, leading two prisoners in just as Lucy and Flynn drew back from yet another stolen kiss.

Wyatt and Rufus stared, completely aghast, at the scene they’d stumbled into, right before they blurted out in unison, “ _Lucy?_ ”


	6. Chapter 6

Rufus was appalled, of course, but Wyatt’s face showed an anger of a very different kind, one that made Flynn roll his eyes, muttering, “Oh, wonderful. Here we go.”

“Not helping,” Lucy said through gritted teeth. She stepped away from Flynn, who swallowed, not quite able to resign himself to the shift in the situation, a change he feared was inevitable. 

Now that she was back with her team, would Lucy really want to continue some wildly ill-advised romance with the enemy? Could their affection survive having to deal with its consequences, consequences which were entirely his own fault? That was one reason why Flynn had tried to hold off reality as long as he could, though there was no time to pause in their pursuit of Rittenhouse, no time to indulge their feelings and hide away in their special connection before they had to wake up. It was one of the many cruel ironies of his life: there was just _never_ time and nothing good lasted. Happiness seemed to be nothing more than an elusive tease.

Actually, Flynn had no reasonable excuse to resent Wyatt Logan, despite the way they often came into conflict. He even might have respected the man for prevailing bravely in so many insane battles through time. Yes, perhaps he could, if it weren’t for the sparks Flynn had noticed between Lucy and Wyatt during their first few encounters. If it weren’t for the maddening rush of jealousy that flooded him every time he saw Wyatt laying a hand on Lucy or giving her a lovelorn gaze, perhaps this reckoning wouldn’t be so damn hard.

“Hey, get away from her,” Wyatt demanded, lurching forward though the officer pulled him back.

Flynn looked at Lucy’s wet cheeks and flustered demeanor, understanding how Wyatt had gotten the wrong idea and jumped to the conclusion he’d been initiating something against Lucy’s will. He understood, but it ignited a molten anger in him anyway.

“If you think I would _ever_ —“ Flynn’s voice was deadly, body tense, hands tightly fisted by his sides as he turned to face Wyatt.

Lucy stopped him with a small look of reassurance and caution. With just the shortest, simplest glance or gesture, she had the power to calm Flynn, bring him down from his rages, and it was like nothing he’d ever felt. He couldn’t resist the magnetic pull of her empathy. 

“Wyatt, I’m fine, it’s nothing like that. It’s okay. Flynn’s on our side now.” She brushed at her damp cheeks and ran a shaking hand over her disheveled hair, keeping her voice firm and confident.

“Lucy, this is madness. You can’t trust him,” Rufus argued, his kind eyes frustrated and worried, his voice straining to stay even as he stated what seemed to be simple common sense on the matter. 

Flynn could have shattered under the pressure of realizing how his crimes had left him unredeemable in almost anyone’s eyes. It hurt to think that the things he’d done to try and save his family, save this _country_ from tyrannically elitist lunatics were continually interpreted as selfish, insane murders. But then again, by now he was used to the feeling. It was one more shade of pain to save up until he had a chance to actually deal with it. For now, he held himself together with pride and that finely honed sense of purpose. After all, he couldn’t collapse like that yet, not when he probably still had a few more crimes left to ensure Rittenhouse’s defeat. And certainly not when Lucy believed in him.

Wyatt was still unraveling previous revelations. “If he wasn’t bothering you, what were you two doing when we came in just now?” His eyes were liquid blue fire, his mouth a straight line as he stared at Lucy and Flynn, noting all the small, damning details in their appearances.

“She doesn’t have to explain herself to you, Wyatt; you should know her well enough by now to trust her integrity and her choices, even if you don’t trust me,” Flynn insisted as Lucy’s dark eyes flitted back and forth between the men, her jaw tight as if she couldn’t wait for this confrontation to be over. 

“And also,” Flynn added icily, “Some things are none of your damn business.”

“So, you know these men?” Washington inquired drily, nodding at the soldiers, who released Rufus and Wyatt. “We found them wandering around my grounds and assumed they were robbers or British spies.”

“They’re associates of ours, new recruits,” Lucy rushed to say, wishing it didn’t feel like her mouth was filled with marbles. “We summoned them here to help us on our mission to capture Arnold.”

The introductions continued, but the moment the time team and Flynn were alone again, the objections resumed.

“How could you just leave the ’30’s like that, send us some cryptic text and then show up here?” Rufus asked incredulously. “We’re supposed to be a team, Lucy.”

“I know, but there were extenuating circumstances to say the least. Flynn and I found a clue that led us here, told us that Arnold was an original member of Rittenhouse. There was no way we could stall traveling here to confront him and get some answers. Plus, I had to make sure Flynn didn’t kill anyone unless absolutely necessary,” she finished, slightly breathless.

“You still should have kept us in the loop, updated us on _exactly_ what you were doing. And are you wearing his coat?” Wyatt pointed his glare not at Lucy, but at a debonairly unfazed Flynn.

“She was cold,” Flynn retorted, infusing the brief reply with equal parts protectiveness and sass.

“Enough, you two! Never mind any of that, let’s just get out there and infiltrate the redcoats’ camp so we can put an end to Rittenhouse,” Lucy insisted. Flynn watched her lovely face as she kept a stiff upper lip for the sake of the mission. He saw through her armor because it was so similar to his own and knew she was torn between guilt and annoyance. She regretted disappointing her team, but why did they find it so hard to instinctively trust her judgement and so totally easy and appropriate to question it? When had she ever let them down before? As far as he was concerned, they should be endlessly grateful this brave, incomparable woman had stayed the course with them after her whole life had been torn apart by this crusade.

“I’m sorry I let you guys down,” She continued, sheepish but emphatically done with this debate. “I’m sorry for disappearing like that, but I didn’t have a better option. We don’t have time to overanalyze my decisions, so save your criticisms for later, or you know, never.”

Wyatt glowered and Rufus looked at her like she’d suddenly grown an extra three heads, but they nodded. 

“I do trust you, Lucy. I’m worried, I’m confused as hell about why you’re suddenly willing to trust _Flynn_ ,” Rufus shielded his mouth as if the next statement was a secretive aside he was concealing from Flynn. “… _who we all know is a deranged freaking serial killer_ , but…I trust you,” he allowed.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Rufus,” Flynn remarked.

“Sure, let’s give it a try,” Wyatt agreed bitterly. “What else are we really gonna do at this point?” He stepped closer and added, “You might want to button your clothes back up” to Flynn, who glanced down at his unfastened vest and rumpled shirt.

“Oh. And nice hickey,” Wyatt added to Lucy before he stormed out of the room, followed by Rufus.

Her eyes glazed as she looked slightly stunned by Wyatt’s words, Lucy reached for the place on her neck where Flynn’s insistent biting and sucking had left a purple-pink ring of puckered skin. As if she realized distantly that the make-up must have smudged away, she traced the circle and chewed her lip as Flynn watched her thoughtfully. Perhaps then Lucy tried to feel what Wyatt obviously wanted her to: guilty, regretful, even ashamed. Maybe she was just curious to know if she agreed that this was how she _should_ feel. Flynn was curious, too.

Yet instead of looking remorseful or despairing, after a few beats she let out a nervous little laugh.

“Hey. You okay?” Flynn asked, a shadow falling back across his face, the worry creeping back in. He adored her, he would lay down his life for her, but he didn’t deserve her, and sooner or later that was bound to catch up with him. His hands rested on her shoulders, gently encouraging.

“Okay? No, not by a long shot,” she admitted, but she saw his expression and smiled softly, kissing the center of his chest and then straightening his shirt, buttoning his vest back up. Her movements were deft, playfully dutiful, her face full of unfettered affection. “Flynn, I don’t think you understand. I’m not okay, but I’ve also _never_ felt this alive. They’re my best friends, I love them, and they’re not going anywhere. But they’re also not going to take me away from you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. No one can.”

********************************************************************  
They stopped to let the horses rest halfway to the British camp, and Lucy slipped away from the others to find Flynn leading his steed to the river. He spoke in a low, soothing voice as he stroked the horse’s muzzle, impressing Lucy with his kindness and competence in comforting the animal.

“You know about horses?” she asked, grateful for the sunshine today as it warmed her face and gleamed off of Flynn’s chestnut hair. He looked, of course, absurdly sexy in his redcoat uniform, displaying again his talent for making the clothes of any era or situation look as though they’d been made just for him. But there was a sadness about his demeanor that made her heart sink. She stepped daintily into the shallow river as he looked up at her and nodded.

“When I was kid, I wanted to be a cowboy,” Flynn explained, petting the horse again until the animal bent her face to the water for a long drink. He let go of the reins and stepped closer to Lucy, admiring her intent, gleaming chocolate eyes fixed on him and her simpler, working-woman’s apparel of a dark teal dress with a pretty criss-cross fastening at the front. 

“Ever hear of Tex Willer comics?” She shook her head and Flynn smiled shyly before elaborating with nostalgic wistfulness. “He had a horse named Dynamite and they used to protect the good guys from the bad guys.” His voice was husky but sweet, carrying her away on his memory to an innocent time.

Lucy pictured a little-boy version of Garcia Flynn, dressed up in cowboy clothes and pretending to fight bad guys astride a wooden horse. It was much too cute, stirring the sentimental part of her heart which had increasingly come to beat just for him.

“Things seemed a lot simpler back then. I remember that feeling,” she replied. “Luke, Han and Leia against Darth Vader. Not a lot of confusing grey areas. Maybe that made it easier to be good.”

“Don’t forget, Darth Vader wasn’t all that bad, not at the end. He protected his family,” Flynn observed, a touch of wry humor doing nothing to hide the flicker of foreboding in his soulful eyes.

“Yeah, but he died to do that,” Lucy answered worriedly. “I don’t think it has to inevitably end that way. There are other ways to find redemption, Flynn.”

“I’m not so sure. But even if I do make it out of this final showdown unscathed, it isn’t as if I can ever have a normal life again.” The resignation in his voice cut her to the quick.

“But…what about your family?” Lucy finally touched on the raw nerve that was the subject of his wife, and just as instantly wished she hadn’t mentioned Lorena. She shouldn’t feel jealous of a dead woman, but she also could not help a certain deep melancholy when she thought about the potential end in sight for her own romance with Flynn. If that’s what this was, a true romance. Was this a love story with a built-in tragic ending, a car she’d jumped into knowing it was headed straight for the edge of a cliff? Or was it just two frightened people caught up in a mess? 

Her heart wanted to believe that she belonged with Flynn, but her mind was cautious, fraught with questions that ultimately might not matter. She was already completely crazy about him. If he was going to break her heart, there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent it, any more than she could have helped falling for him.

“What will you do once you get them back, once they’re alive again?” Her voice trembled over the words and she cursed herself for the embarrassing helplessness in the question. She wanted to be cool and reasonable, but just like Flynn, she seemed to be having a hard time achieving it today.

“I will give them each one last hug, and then I’ll walk away, never to return again,” he confided with firm solemnity.

“What? Why? After all this hell you’ve put yourself through to get them back, why would you walk out of their lives like that?” Lucy felt her guilty jealous feeling changing, morphing into concern.

“Because after everything I’ve done, the lengths I’ve gone to in order to bring Rittenhouse down, I can’t be around them again. I can’t bring those feelings and that past home with me. What kind of a husband or a father could I be to them now, what kind of husband could I be anyway now that I look at you, and I—“ His smile was sharp and sad, his eyes averted. He was running away from her again, but she got closer and perched her fingers on his chest as he let his own fall automatically to her hips, tracing her delicate bones through the tough fabric of her full skirt. “I have to be alone,” he resolved, “it’s the only way.”

“Alone?” She wouldn’t let herself be afraid of the wall he tried to build up around himself now. With a painfully ironic realization, Lucy thought that for someone so often considered a villain, Flynn had a major hero complex. “What about you and me?”

“What about it, Lucy? You know you deserve better, just as much as they do. I love you, _very_ much,” he smiled, making her heart jump. “And…in a way I think I didn’t realize before yesterday, I’d already grieved Lorena before I fell for you. I’m confused as hell about it, and it makes me feel incredibly guilty because despite what I had with Lorena and even though I will always love and cherish her memory, the truth now is, _you_ have my heart. It’s yours, Lucy, but it’s a broken thing…I’m broken, and I don’t know if there’s a way for me to be anything else. You should have someone that can give you a real chance at happiness.” 

“I’m happy when I’m with you,” she admitted with a tearful fragility, running her pale fingers up over his chest to caress his shoulders and clasp behind his neck. “Yeah, I’m also pissed off and worried when I’m with you, and all the while I’m completely burning up with this _need_ to touch you, to be closer and closer. But the point is, Flynn, _you_ , for all your faults and your scars, you make me happy. Maybe you were right all along and we were meant to save each other, put each other’s broken pieces back together.”

He looked away from her again, his ruggedly gorgeous features so awed and deferent, casting around for words to express the way hers had made him feel. “It’s just…you’re _so_ good, Lucy,” he braced his hands on her arms, his thumbs stroking her as he smiled one of his most complicated smiles yet. “You’re a light so bright, you blind me. Maybe that’s why I’m crazy enough to believe you that there’s still a life for me after this. Maybe that’s why I want to try harder not to give that up.”

****************************************************************************

Benedict Arnold smiled haughtily, pleased that Flynn and Wyatt, posing as British officers, had brought him two “rebel spies,” Lucy and Rufus. How pathetic, Flynn thought, that Arnold was so willing to capture spies for the very cause which until recently, he’d claimed to be ready to die for.

 _What a priggish little coward._ Flynn maintained a thin veneer of patience with Arnold, mainly because he’d promised Lucy, but if Arnold’s men increased their roughness with the prisoners one iota, he was going to snap with no regrets.

“We actually come to you with more than just this humble offering,” Flynn smiled, though there was a subtle venom in his friendliness. “We have news as well, from Rittenhouse.”

This had been the agreed-upon signal, and Lucy and Rufus stomped hard on their captors’ feet. Wyatt used the moment of surprise to knock both of the guards out as Flynn leveled his weapon at Arnold.

“What in God’s name are you doing?” Arnold stared aghast at Flynn, then glanced over to where Wyatt was untying Lucy and Rufus’ wrists before using the same ropes to secure the guards. 

Flynn looked momentarily to Lucy, who gave a tiny nod. Then he strode to Arnold and took the seated man hard by the shoulder, pointing his gun at the famous traitor’s head at terrifyingly close range.

“You can’t march into my camp, into my personal chambers in broad daylight and threaten me. Who in blazes are you heathens?” Arnold took one look at the cooly determined faces of his captors and flinched.

“We’re getting you to tell us every last damn detail you know about Rittenhouse,” Flynn explained cordially, shrugging. “Or, we’re blowing your brains out.”

“Well, technically, he’s the one who would be blowing your brains out,” Rufus put in, nodding at Flynn. “It won’t take much to entice him, so I’d play nice. For the rest of us, killing you’s more of a last resort, hoping-it-won’t-come-to-that kind of thing.”

“I don’t understand! Why do you care so much about David Rittenhouse?” Arnold babbled out, terrified and perplexed.

“Wait, _David_ Rittenhouse? As in, Rittenhouse is a man?” Lucy repeated in disbelief.

Wyatt looked at Flynn accusingly. “Flynn, you never told us—“

Flynn shook his head as he began to panic, but internalized the reaction. How could this be? What did it mean? Would this make it easier or harder to bring them down? He only knew one thing: if Rittenhouse was a single man who could be killed so that history was forever shielded from his toxic legacy, then it was happening today, at Flynn’s own eager hands.

“I didn’t know, I had no idea,” Flynn growled, green eyes flashing with angry new determination. “The journal never said anything about Rittenhouse being one person.” He pressed the barrel of the gun to Arnold’s forehead. “ _Where_. Where is David Rittenhouse?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note of warning that there is some violence in this chapter.

It disturbed Lucy to hear Rittenhouse philosophy flowing all too easily from the lips of an otherwise innocent-looking adolescent boy. As she waited with the others for an audience with David Rittenhouse, they met his son John, who casually launched into a stream of insane propaganda: monarchies and democracies must be abolished, Father said. All authority should be shunned outside of those elite enough to make the right decisions for the betterment of humanity. The lad stated the matter so simply, blinking steadily as it were the purest common sense.

Though at this juncture it would obviously be pointless, Lucy wanted to reason with him. The frustrated discomfort rippled palpably in the air between herself, Wyatt and Flynn the longer they listened to the boy talk. Well, at least there was one thing they could all agree on: Rittenhouse really and truly, quite profoundly sucked. 

“Indeed, my fine young man,” Benedict Arnold simpered. “How long do you expect your father to be away from home this evening?”

As if beckoned by the sycophantic hanger-on’s request, Rittenhouse himself came striding confidently into the lavishly well-appointed study. 

“Well, good evening, Benedict,” Rittenhouse said with a smile Lucy immediately identified as deeply creepy. He had a face like a mask, predatory but with a dead-eyed sort of hunger, a boundless selfishness. “And what has you pestering me in the dead of night? Who are these strangers you’ve brought?”

“I am…sorry, sir,” Arnold shrugged, stepping back as Flynn immediately lunged at Rittenhouse and roughly pinned his hands behind his back. Wyatt leveled his gun squarely at Rittenhouse, while Lucy faced their enemy with a severe expression. So here he was, the mastermind of a plan so thoroughly rotten that it had eaten its way through history, leaving its poisonous mark on everything it touched. He’d started the problem which had, eventually, stolen Amy away, killed Flynn’s family, hurt God knew how many others. She felt no mercy as Rittenhouse smirked wolfishly at her, completely unworried by the aggressive attack.

“How many members are there in your organization?” She asked coldly, watching over Rittenhouse’s shoulder as Flynn towered above him, a hatred in his eyes even more furious than her own. Lucy swallowed, realizing it was necessary to get in as many questions as she could before Flynn’s patience broke and he killed Rittenhouse. She had no intention of stopping him, not this time, but they needed answers first.

“Talk,” Wyatt barked.

“No,” Rittenhouse retorted. “You idiots. Did you think you could just barge in here and extract any sort of secret intelligence you liked about our plan to save this wretched world from itself? How pathetically short-sighted.”

Sure enough, a small army of musket-wielding men stormed into the room, forcing Wyatt and Flynn to back off of their boss. Rittenhouse took a gun from one of his lackeys and without further ado fired it at Arnold, who fell dead on the spot. Lucy flinched and John gave a frightened cry, which caused his father to give him a darkly displeased glance. Meanwhile, Wyatt and Flynn fought hard against their captors, but to no avail as they were held firmly back.

Rittenhouse stalked up to Lucy, looking her up and down with a lascivious grin. “I don’t know how you people ever heard about me or what I’m planning, my dear, but _you_ are a sight for sore eyes. Surely you are from a fine family…I can sense the strong blood pumping through your veins under that pretty, creamy skin…” He stroked her wrist with one finger as she went pale and flinched away. 

“Don’t you touch her!” Flynn absolutely roared, exerting such strength against the two men holding him that he almost broke loose. Meanwhile, Wyatt exchanged a look of intensely panicked desperation with his frenemy.

“Calm down, you dumb lout,” Rittenhouse told Flynn without turning around. “you’ll be dead shortly and I’ll still be enjoying this gorgeous specimen for quite a while afterwards. You _are_ from a good family, aren’t you, my dear? You see, it’s just that there’s something about your face that’s quite charmingly familiar.”

Lucy grimaced. Was it true, was there someone in her ancestry who even now was already in league with Rittenhouse? Unfortunately, while it was revolting information, she could hardly be surprised. 

“My name is Lucy Preston,” she answered boldly, “And I don’t give a damn if you know someone else from my family, because I’m nothing like them. I’m telling you my name so that you know by whose order you’ll be dying.”

Rittenhouse cackled, but even his glee was like a hollow facsimile of human emotion, making her stomach turn. It was easy to believe he was at the root of the sort of hate cult they’d been fighting all this time. As his beady eyes raked over her figure, he replied in a low voice, “What lovely child-bearing hips you have, too. Destined to help bring another generation of powerful Rittenhouse descendants into a world sorely in need of their guidance.”

“I’m going to tear you limb from limb,” Flynn vowed, his gravelly voice enough to strike terror into anyone with common sense. Only Rittenhouse’s achilles heel, his ego, prevented him from realizing the severity of the threat.

“I think not,” he retorted. “Bring them over there,” he added to his crew of henchmen, “Get them on their knees and shoot them each in the head.”

“Father, I can’t watch anymore, please,” John begged from his desk in the corner. He was shaking from head to toe, but his father merely looked disappointed by what he dubbed youthful cowardice.

“You’re to stay, and don’t take your eyes off of this execution. It’s time you sloughed off your boyish hesitation and joined the cause in earnest,” Rittenhouse ordered John. His menacing tone implied that disobedience would bring far worse consequences than witnessing more death.

Wyatt and Flynn were helplessly outnumbered, and despite their considerable strength in attempting to fight back, they were soon kneeling before the assassins’ muskets.

With wild-eyed disbelief, Lucy looked at Flynn, the man she loved, and then at Wyatt, who for all their complicated issues would always be one of her best friends. Her heart struggled against a dull, aching pain, a struggle as fruitless as Flynn and Wyatt’s attempts to fight back. The realization that they could really be put to death here and now while she could do nothing to prevent it — it was something she couldn’t let herself fully comprehend. The horror was too all-consuming, even as Rittenhouse got closer and looked at her with increasing shamelessness. 

“And _you_ are to be brought to my bedchambers,” Rittenhouse announced. Lucy fought another wave of nausea as a cold sweat broke out over her enraged, terrified body. 

Her wide, fiercely determined eyes met Flynn’s and she saw such unbreakable love for her reflected there, driving a fearful vendetta against Rittenhouse which had been intensified a hundredfold the moment he threatened to abuse Lucy. 

“Flynn,” she murmured, feeling the rest of the room getting a little blurry as obvious symptoms of a panic attack infringed on her attempt to remain steely and calm. Her heart was pounding too fast, painfully hard. “It’s gonna be okay,” she somehow managed to say, “We’ll make it through this like always.”

He was about to die, but he was completely focused on Lucy, his brow furrowing with worry at the sight of her distress. “Lucy,” Flynn said hoarsely, as if it was all he _could_ say or think. Beside him, Wyatt closed his eyes, trying to shut out this nightmare. 

Then to everyone’s shock, the door shot open and Rufus appeared. 

Charging in like he’d been born a badass, Rufus immediately fired a stolen Rittenhouse gun at the man holding Wyatt, causing the lackey to go flying backwards as Wyatt launched into action. Quickly incapacitating the thugs holding Flynn back, Wyatt gave him a meaningful nod. Understanding each other perfectly, they beat their way through the rest of the guards until David Rittenhouse found that the tables had certainly turned and he was at the time team’s mercy.

“I don’t think we’re going to get any more information out of him,” Flynn hissed, pointing his gun at Rittenhouse. “It’s time to end this.”

Flynn glanced at Lucy, who nodded and that was indeed the last thing David Rittenhouse saw before his back hit the floor and he lay dead, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes and vaguely surprised expression.

“Wow, he really did it,” Rufus said, amazed. Wyatt holstered his gun and rubbed his wrists, watching in concern as Lucy started to approach Flynn.

“It isn’t enough,” Flynn snarled, his eyes blazing. He dropped his gun to the floor, then pounced down, pummeling Rittenhouse relentlessly with his fists until blood sprayed out from the man’s now unrecognizable face.

“It is now,” Lucy said softly as Flynn panted, his reddened hands going limp. 

“Careful, Lucy,” Wyatt warned as she got closer and rested one hand on Flynn’s shoulder. 

His posture was dejected, but he nodded, avoiding her eyes as if he was ashamed of his animalistic behavior. “I couldn’t stand it, not after what he said to you, Lucy,” he said, heaving a ragged breath, then going to a nearby basin of water to clean his hands off.

“Hey,” she murmured, at his side again, gentle but firm. “Flynn. Do you know what I felt about him, after all that Rittenhouse has done, and yes, after he said what he was going to…do to me? I get it. We all do.”

Flynn frowned, but allowed his gaze to flit between Lucy, Wyatt and Rufus’ accepting expressions. Even in Wyatt’s bright blue eyes there was a glimmer of understanding, as well as a perhaps temporary pause in judgement or dislike. 

Then Flynn seemed to snap back to reality from his shocked daze, and his eyes widened, his body again going rigid with panic.

“The boy,” he said gruffly, “Where is the boy?”

“Come on, Flynn, you can’t be serious,” Wyatt tried to reason, looking disappointed that Flynn was already lapsing back into his old ways.

“He’s just a kid, man,” Rufus put in, pointlessly barring the doorway as Flynn nearly staggered towards it.

“No,” Lucy cried out, wondering how the hell she hadn’t anticipated this turn of events. He was acting under the belief that he’d be rubbing out a future psychopath who continued all the ruination which David Rittenhouse had started. Flynn believed he was saving Lorena and Iris. Lucy knew that even she couldn’t stop him, but still she shouted it again: “No, please, Flynn, you can’t!”

“I don’t have a choice,” he answered brusquely, pushing past Rufus and making a run for it.

“I got this,” Lucy told Wyatt and Rufus, bolting away before either could answer. She flew out the door of Rittenhouse’s mansion and determined that Flynn’s likeliest path had to be to the woods, as it was the most obvious hiding place the boy would have chosen. She hadn’t run that far before she heard John’s voice calling out, begging for mercy, and she stopped running, creeping almost silently until she crouched down in front of the boy. Flynn had turned around, but everything about his bearing told her he was deeply distraught. He looked so lost when he moved to face John again and saw Lucy protecting the boy. Her heart squeezed at the sight of his tear-streaked face and the anguish in his expression, but adrenaline coursed through her, keeping her firm in her stance, helping her voice to come out clear.

“You’re not going to hurt him, Flynn.” 

“ _Move!_ ” Flynn yelled, but she shook her head and he repeated it, his hand shaking, struggling to keep hold of his gun. “Move, Lucy, _please_ ” he said again in a sob, falling to his knees before her as John cowered in the background.

Lucy kept one hand on John’s arm, stretching her free one out to lower Flynn’s gun. “No,” she whispered, and then she said more emphatically, “I won’t let you kill a child.”

“He’s going to do horrible things…you heard him, he’s going to follow in his father’s footsteps, bring forth the very legacy we’ve been killing ourselves and sacrificing everything to prevent! Can’t you see that? This has to be done!” 

“There’s another way,” Lucy insisted. “I know why you think this is inevitable, but I also know you’re good, and you can fight this! Don’t take the easy way out when we can think of another solution that lets him live.”

He shook his head, his fingers tightening on the gun as her own lingered fearlessly at his wrist. “If I have to let go of the last bit of my integrity to save the world from Rittenhouse, then I don’t have a choice! My life was over before I met you, Lucy, but now it has to be over again. Let me…let me do this, end this, get you Amy back. Save Lorena and Iris, plus all the others who have been scratched out of existence thanks to what this boy will do when he grows older.”

“Flynn, I won’t lose you, I can’t. I love you too much,” Lucy answered, barely holding back the urge to dissolve into uncontrollable crying. As he watched her, absorbing her words, he finally let go of his fear that happiness was impossible, meeting her eyes as he gave a long, shaky exhale. 

“We could…maybe we could…” Flynn wiped his eyes and breathed in and out several more times, gathering the strength to continue as his mind rapidly worked through theories and guesses which he previously thought too pointless to even consider. “I guess we could bring him back with us, to 2016,” he suggested, “Then he can’t do anything to further Rittenhouse’s cause from this point in history.”

“Lucy!” Wyatt and Rufus were alternately calling her name as they advanced through the woods. She gave Flynn a wobbly smile and nodded as he let her take the gun from his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Flynn said, looking shattered. “I don’t know how you can ever forgive me for what I almost just did.” He stood as Rufus and Wyatt entered the clearing to find the fear in John’s face slowly changing from the terror of imminent demise to confusion at what Flynn had proposed.

“2016?” John asked, the numbers totally alien to his comprehension. “Where is that? What are you talking about? Please, just let me go home.”

“I’m sorry, John, but there’s no home for you back there, not anymore,” Lucy said softly. She squeezed the boy’s hand and added, “We’re going to make sure you live a much better, happier, and healthier life than you would have if we left you here, I promise.”

“Whoa, how’s that even going to work?” Wyatt asked.

“I’ll bring the boy in the Mothership with me,” Flynn proposed, but Wyatt gave him a grimly accusatory look. 

“Oh, now, don’t worry, Master Sergeant,” Flynn quipped condescendingly. He was upset, but even so, he always seemed to have a dose of sarcasm ready for Wyatt. “I won’t harm a hair on his head. I’m taking responsibility for what I was ready to do. It’s time I start to make amends.”

“Flynn, making amends?” Rufus shook his head, out of his depths. “Is this 1780, or just the Twilight Zone?”


	8. Chapter 8

True to his word, Flynn made no attempt to abscond with the boy or otherwise evade the time team’s apprehension. He landed the Mothership in a secluded area near Mason Industries and walked inside Connor’s facility with John in tow not long after the Lifeboat had returned.

“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” Agent Christopher said, dumbfounded. They had a team from child services on the way to help with rehabilitating the child, but for the more intricate process of acclimating John to 2016, Lucy had volunteered to help. It wasn’t John’s fault he was the son of a monster, and she knew there was more than a good chance he could grow far beyond his father’s cruelty if he was shown kindness and care from now on.

“Hey,” Jiya said warmly, crouching down to John’s height with a friendly smile. “I’m Jiya. Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll get you something to eat?” The boy had been struck mute with disbelief after the process of time travel and now seeing this high-tech environment. But he was strong despite the years of psychological abuse to which Rittenhouse had subjected him. He nodded, taking Jiya’s offered hand as she led him gently away, allowing the rest of the team to discuss their current plans.

“Flynn should be granted immunity,” Lucy blurted, making Christopher balk as Flynn gave a low, self-deprecating chuckle and shook his head.

“Lucy, it’s okay,” he murmured, taking her hand as Agent Christopher looked even more astonished.

“Oh, yes, this is a thing now,” Rufus explained as Christopher stared aghast at Lucy and Flynn’s joined hands, the way they lingered in each other’s personal space with natural comfort. Rufus noticed the profound awkwardness of the scene and said a little too loudly, “I’m going to go help Jiya make a snack for John,” practically fleeing the room.

“Well, it isn’t going to be a _thing_ for much longer,” Wyatt announced, not even reacting to Rufus’ hurried exit. “I think Lucy deserves better than dating someone who’s going to be behind bars for the rest of his life, and we all know that after killing his way through history, there’s really no other fate ahead for Flynn, is there?” 

Wyatt’s half-smirk was humorless, his sarcasm empty of satisfaction. He was jealous, and the fact that he had no right to be jealous just made him bitter. In fact, as Lucy briefly examined his face, she thought it looked like Wyatt was angrier at himself for his irrational feelings than he was at either herself or Flynn.

“Cut it out, Wyatt, you’re only making yourself feel worse, and you’re not solving anything with that attitude,” Lucy insisted, offended and annoyed but not entirely unsympathetic. After all, their story was definitely twisty and confusing. It wasn’t crazy of Wyatt to be lashing out, but he needed to check his defensive, judgmental comments.

“Maybe not, but he’s also not wrong, by any logical consideration,” Connor put in, wearing the same utterly baffled expression that everyone seemed to exhibit the first time they realized Lucy and Flynn were a couple. “What else can we really expect the government to do with an obvious serial killer?”

“Come now, Mr. Mason, surely allowances will be made for the considerable extenuating circumstances behind my crimes,” Flynn said wryly. “We are not talking about your run-of-the-mill killing spree; there was a greater purpose to everything I did.”

“Yes, but that’s what they all say,” Connor replied smoothly. “You’ll need a better defense than that, I can tell you.”

“What are you proposing, Lucy?” Agent Christopher asked out of respect, but she looked as if she was already exhausted by Lucy’s answer before she even heard it. She also looked determined to see that justice was served to keep Flynn somewhere he couldn’t hurt anyone else, or distort history any further. 

“Flynn not only discovered the clue that led us to Benedict Arnold, then to David Rittenhouse and the true origin of his cult,” Lucy began, reciting a speech she’d carefully formulated on the ride home. “He also came up with the idea of bringing John Rittenhouse back here to prevent the rise of his father’s organization. And tell me, Denise…did it work?”

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, “To some extent. Well, alright, to a remarkable extent, based on what you’ve told me about the way Rittenhouse used to be before this latest mission. There has still always been a Rittenhouse, since Revolutionary times, but without David’s direct heir at the helm, the ranks were more fractured…multiple sects of Rittenhouse developed, rather than just one larger, stronger version. It’s going to be easier to take them down in slow doses, no matter how many agents they have in various time periods, carrying out their will. It isn’t a shared will now, so their methods are sloppier.”

“What about our families, the people we lost?” Wyatt asked, looking terrified of the answer, having been disappointed on this count too many times to summon real hope. “Jessica, Amy…”

“Lorena and Iris,” Flynn put in with nervous expectancy.

“Jessica was dead?” Agent Christopher’s confused response immediately made Wyatt’s face light up.

“Oh, my God,” Wyatt proclaimed, grabbing for his phone and making a hasty exit, clearly planning to track his wife down immediately. 

“And your wife and daughter are fine," Denise elaborated to Flynn, "…estranged, since you’ve been gone a year and reported as presumed dead by the NSA. You thought there were Rittenhouse agents out to get you, willing to go after your family if that's what it took to silence you, so you left them to keep them safe, then stole the Mothership to go wipe out Rittenhouse." Flynn shuddered and breathed out slowly, collapsing into Lucy’s arms as she hugged him tightly. 

Lucy clutched Flynn as they held onto each other for all they were worth, letting the news break over them like an unbelievable shockwave.

“Amy,” Flynn remembered, concerned for Lucy even through the haze of this happy news about his family. “Is Amy back?”

“I’m sorry, Lucy, but no, she’s still gone. We’ll make getting her back our next mission, a priority, okay?” Denise frowned sympathetically.

“Okay,” Lucy nodded, her body feeling weak with anxiety. It would have been too much to realistically expect, she supposed, if Amy was back in addition to the other lost loved ones, but the news still stung.

“We’ll get her back,” Flynn promised. “Or you will, since I doubt I’ll ever be allowed near a time machine again.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Lucy answered, “There aren’t a lot of people who can do what we do, Flynn. And you’re damn right we’re getting Amy back.” She held him close, massaging her hand over his back. “I’m so happy for you…your family…”

“I shouldn’t go near them,” Flynn said, his voice thick, buried in Lucy’s neck. “I should just let them take me into custody now. My work is done…”

“Please,” Lucy sniffled, holding herself together for everyone’s sake, wondering when she was going to crack under all the pressure and cry for about a year. She looked pleadingly at Christopher over Flynn’s shoulder. “Let him at least see his family again. You _should_ consider what I said about immunity, because he’s earned it. He helped us save history, save so many lives. But at the very least—“

“I’ll see what I can do,” Agent Christopher responded cautiously. “In the meantime, you two can take some time to talk things over. I’ll let you know once I’ve communicated with my supervisors and learned what they’re willing to do regarding Flynn. He stays in the building, understand?”

Lucy nodded as she and Flynn drew slowly back from one another, hearts heavy and aching.

“Yes,” she answered, and Denise gave a small, careful smile.

“Thank you both,” Christopher added, unsure as they all were of what the future would hold, only knowing it was a brighter one thanks to what Lucy and Flynn had accomplished.

********************************************************************************

“Agent Christopher will make sure you get to see your family,” Lucy promised as soon as they’d slipped into an empty conference room. “She’s an amazing agent and she has a way of getting these things done even when the cards seem stacked against it. Just don’t—don’t even worry…” Lucy stood there, not even realizing she was wringing her hands or that her voice had gone thin. She hadn’t fully absorbed the news about Amy, hadn’t emotionally moved past the earlier part of the day’s adventures enough to do that.

Flynn closed the door behind them and smoothed his hands over her shoulders. “Lucy, it’s okay,” he sighed. “Don’t worry about what Agent Christopher can do for me or how I’m feeling. You must be completely exhausted and you’ve just gone through yet another ordeal. Just relax, if you can, let me help you. Alright?” His voice was soft and gentle, and she gave into his suggestion, letting him guide her to a chair, where she sat with her head in her hands, temporarily unable to face him.

He was right. It was too much. She’d been throwing all her energy into looking after Flynn so that she wouldn’t have to face all the feelings she’d been trying to smother since they got back. The trauma of being threatened with rape by Rittenhouse was still fresh. She hadn’t been able to get past that aftermath long enough to deal with the fact that Flynn’s family really _were_ back and that he might belong back with them, that she had no right to do anything but advocate for it if that’s what he wanted. Even if she had to fight the government’s will on this with whatever limited sway her own contributions had earned her, she’d never…never…stop…

Lucy crossed her arms and let her head fall into them as her shoulders began shaking, silent sobs racking her body. Flynn sat down close beside her and embraced her as she collapsed against him.

“It’s okay…it’s okay, just let it all out…I’m here for you,” he soothed. “I wish I could have killed Rittenhouse before he ever had a chance to speak to you, I wish I never went after John in the woods, Lucy, I’m so sorry.”

“Flynn,” she sighed, rubbing her cheek against his chest and breathing in his comfortingly familiar scent, drawing strength from his resilient and loving presence. “We’re not responsible for the terrible things other people do, or what we sometimes think we need to do to stop more terrible things from happening…not if we stop and remember who we are in time. And you did.”

He held her snugly while she let go of the idea of speaking and dissolved into more tears, just letting every bit of sadness, fear, anger, guilt, confusion and happiness pour out of her heart. “It’s alright…I love you, Lucy, it’s all going to be alright.” Flynn stroked her hair, rocked her slowly and kissed her forehead, and then she believed him. Their war against Rittenhouse was far from over, as there were surely plenty of sleeper agents hidden throughout time who still needed to be taken out of play, numerous sects of the cult who would surely be coming after the time team with creative aggression. 

She didn’t understand how it could all work out okay. She didn’t know how there could be hope for her relationship with Flynn, not when she could never put her own wishes ahead of what he, Lorena and Iris might need. 

But somehow she believed him anyway. Somehow she felt he was right. It made her remember the way he’d spoken to her earlier, by the river, when he told her how she’d revived his hope for life in ways he’d never dreamed possible. Lucy was simply lost in his light now, too, and she finally smiled as she looked up at him, her throat raw, nose stinging and eyes red-rimmed. 

“We’ll figure it all out…together? No matter what happens,” she murmured, and he nodded with a calming smile of his own.

“Yes, Lucy,” he promised, kissing her tear-stained lips. “Of course we will, of course.” He offered her his hand. “After all, we’re partners, right?”

She laughed, more tears spilling from her eyes as she shook his hand, then kissed his cheek, remembering that not so long ago, the idea of working with him seemed impossible. “Yeah, that’s right. Partners.”


	9. Chapter 9

He knew they would be ready for him, that government agents at Agent Christopher’s behest had already stopped by the house to inform Lorena Flynn that her husband had been found alive. Still, once he stood on the front steps of the lovely home they’d once shared, he found he could go no further. No matter how much Lorena and Iris might have been prepared for his arrival, Flynn himself wasn’t ready in the least.

Memories came back to him like a thousand bullets whistling through the harsh chill of the day and piercing his embattled mind all over again. The night they’d been killed, here in the place where they’d shared so many happy memories, killed with Flynn right down the hall, unable to make it to them in time as those Rittenhouse bastards enforced their cruelest methods of information security. Lorena’s cries, then Iris’, so shrill and short, their breath soon cut off, and Flynn, in his state of shock, running away, knowing they were done for, knowing that if he got out alive he could avenge their deaths. And on every day that had passed since that wretched night, Flynn had asked himself if he’d done the right thing by escaping. 

He wondered if it wouldn’t have been more honorable to go to them, hold their bleeding bodies and follow them into the unknown, if there could possibly be anything he could do, either through vengeance or changing history, that might redeem his many impulsive and idiotic mistakes. Mistakes that had cost his wife and child their lives. He’d been far too curious, picking at the scab which was the word “Rittenhouse,” bringing this ruination down on his family. Why did he deserve to live if he was responsible for their deaths? He often thought that if he didn’t save them, there was no other reason to live.

But the more time he spent with Lucy, the more he began to reawaken, not only to hope but to the painful resonation of his own inherent morality, his inability to be anywhere near as heartless as he’d designed. Now he felt healed from much of the self-loathing which had once defined his existence, yet the scars remained. The wounds might be reopened if he looked into Lorena and Iris’ faces, and then how could he possibly hide from them the depths to which he’d sunk, the monster he’d become on their behalf? It was the last thing they would have wanted, for him to have become a ruthless killer.

He wanted to run again, but he heard footsteps coming, one set deliberate and excited, the other tiny, giddy, exhilarated. Flynn realized that there were times to run away, times when self-preservation was vital in order to fight on for what you believed in, but then there were times when you had to face reality, no matter how harrowing, no matter how it tore you apart at the seams. 

The door flew open and Iris leaped into his arms so fast that it took his breath away. “Daddy!” She screamed, hugging him with every ounce of strength in her skinny little six year old body, holding onto him as if she could save him all over again by keeping him right there in her embrace.

He laughed and burst into tears at the same time, gripping Iris and breathing in the familiar scent of that hair detangling spray which Lorena had to lavish all over the child’s head just to get a brush through it every night. Iris was freshly bathed and wearing her Muppets pajamas, the plush material so soft and warm. Flynn managed to pry his stinging, watery eyes open again and he saw Lorena standing there crying, too, her hand pressed to her lips just before she stepped forward to wrap her arms around Flynn and Iris.

“Group hug!” Iris declared as they all laughed. 

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Lorena declared, softly kissing Flynn’s cheek. 

“Neither can I,” he admitted huskily. “Come on, let’s go and sit inside. Don’t worry, kiddo, I’m not putting you down again anytime soon.”

The house was warm too, full of the smell of Lorena’s fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, and messy with toys scattered all over the living room rug. “Sorry, it’s a disaster in here,” Lorena sighed as they sat down, Iris still firmly fastened to her father, Flynn grinning at his wife.

“Good,” he chuckled, “I’ve missed the mess. It feels so alive. I’ve missed you both so very much.” There was a lump in his throat as he squeezed Lorena’s hand and kissed Iris’ damp head. 

Lorena was beautiful, sweet, brilliant, everything he remembered, and he loved her dearly. Seeing her and Iris alive again was surreal in the best sense, almost too good to be true. Yet he felt a twinge of guilt at the way his love for his wife seemed to have shifted, changing from the ardent passion he’d once felt to a strong, vibrant comfort. The feeling you had for a true friend, a kindred spirit, but not a lover. How could he ever tell her? What was _wrong_ with him that he had been able to move on like that, fall so hopelessly in love with Lucy? He never wanted to hurt either one of them, would have rather suffered himself, but what could he do?

********************************************************************************************************

Once Iris went to bed, a long and involved process involving many stories and extra goodnight kisses, Flynn and Lorena sat down again to talk. He wished he had even the slightest idea where to begin or how to just _be_ in the space he’d once occupied so naturally, the place by her side, as her husband.

There were parts of the story he didn’t tell Lorena because he didn’t want her to suffer the trauma of hearing about Iris’ death. So he kept to the most basic of storylines, explaining that he had been caught up in a battle with terrorists, leaving the group unnamed to protect her from the danger that came with knowing the word “Rittenhouse.”

“I wanted to keep you both safe, so I couldn’t come home until I was sure you could be. And in fighting to put these beasts down, I had to become one myself, Lorena.” Flynn set his mug of coffee down and gave her a rueful look. “I’ve done things in the process, things I’m not proud of. Extreme measures that left me changed. At first, I didn’t think I could come back here because of what I’d done.”

She took his hand and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I trust you, I know that whatever you did, it had to be done.”

“Well, there are those who would argue that point with great vehemence,” Flynn laughed softly. “I have to stand trial in a military court this week, deal with the consequences of my choices.” His brow creased and he frowned, adding, “I’m just hoping I will still be able to be a father to Iris once those consequences are handed down.”

“You’ll always be her father,” Lorena soothed, blinking back tears. “Garcia, we thought you were lost forever. To have you back again, to know you’re safe and alive, it’s everything.”

He had to tell her, before anything else happened, before she started to wonder why he wasn’t being more physically affectionate with her, but how could he do that, form those words? 

“Lorena, there’s something I-“

At the same time he’d begun the sentence, Lorena had blurted, “I have to tell you something-“

They both laughed. Flynn rubbed his jaw, looking around the room in nervous distraction. A vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table caught his eye, and mostly to have something random and harmless to say, to distract him from his utter confusion, he said, “Nice flowers.”

“Yeah,” Lorena nodded, then she dissolved into sobs, her head in her hands. “That’s just the problem, you see…oh, God, what did I do?”

“Lorena,” he breathed in surprise, smoothing his hand over her back as her body was racked with more sobs. “Please, whatever’s upsetting you, it doesn’t matter. I’m just so happy to be here with you and Iris, it’s all okay.”

“But…but that’s exactly why it’s so hor-hor-horrible,” she stuttered, almost panicking. “I.” She yanked a handful of tissues from the box on the table and wiped her cheeks, then blew her nose. “I met someone,” she finally told him. “At work. And after months and months of him not saying anything about how he felt for me, waiting and respecting my grief and being my friend, I realized I had to tell him how _I_ felt and— I’m so sorry, I should have waited longer…I should have known that in your profession, the news of your death might not be true, it’s just that when they told us you were dead, they seemed _so_ sure—“

“Hey,” Flynn sighed, pulling her into his arms for a comforting hug, “That’s okay. I was gone, Lorena, you had a right to move on, to make a life for yourself.”

“No, no, no,” Lorena insisted, pushing gently at his chest to look up at him, wild-eyed and guilt-ridden. “How could it ever be okay, how could you possibly forgive me?”

“Lorena, don’t you see? I forgive you because you have done nothing wrong, and more than that, it’s because I understand so completely. You see…” Flynn’s green eyes were tear-fogged again as he smiled, picturing his stunning, precious Lucy and knowing that as much as he belonged in Iris and Lorena’s lives, he belonged with Lucy, too. “You see, I’ve met someone, too.”

****************************************************************************************************

Lucy’s fingers felt weirdly numb as she made herself twist the doorknob to let Flynn into her house. She remembered the last time he’d been here, when they’d been swept up in the excitement of their adventure, the thrill of their newly confessed attraction. 

Now everything was different. He was a married man, he had his family, his _life_ back. Her heart was weighed down in awful dread as she avoided looking up into his handsome, untouchable face for as many beats as possible. 

“Lucy?” Flynn asked softly, confused by her hesitation to meet his eyes. His voice pulled her like an invisible magnet and she gazed at him, her heart leaping at the sweet, concerned smile on his face. Despite everything, she felt instinctively that he still wanted her, still longed to be with her…it was written all over his face, reverberating from his body as he pulled her into a big hug.

“You’re here,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek into his chest, smelling him and pressing her hands lovingly against his back. God, how she needed him. Maybe it was selfish but she couldn’t help it, no matter how she tried.

“Of course I’m here,” he assured her, stroking her back and kissing her head, stepping back slightly and gently taking her face in his hands to beckon her gaze to his once more. “Lucy. Of course. I had to come home to you.”

“But…your family…you really could have stayed another night; I’m pretty sure Agent Christopher would have looked the other way. And you still could have made it back in time for the trial.” Lucy pressed her naked pink lips together and he watched as her dark eyes flooded with conflicted emotion. Denise had cleverly arranged a weekend reprieve for Flynn to see his family before he stood trial for his crimes, many of which were still intact, recorded within the current timeline.

“Lorena and Iris are absolutely fine. I think it’s wiser I be here to fully prepare for tomorrow, but more importantly, I couldn’t lose the chance to have this night with you, especially if it might be our last for a while.” A sadness flickered across his face and she knew that despite his commitment to soothing her anxieties, he had plenty of his own.

“We’ve got a rock solid defense,” she said more cheerfully, the tables turning as she rushed to relieve his stress. “You know from the meetings you had with Turner before leaving to see your family that she’s a remarkable attorney. In fact, she says that after all you did to save the world from Rittenhouse, it’s open-shut.” To emphasize her point, Lucy stepped playfully behind him to shut the door. Flynn chuckled, raising his eyebrows and bowing in surrender to her well-made point. Then she led him by hand into the living room, where they sat down on the couch.

“You mean, after all _we_ did to save the world from Rittenhouse,” he reminded her, sweeping a lock of her hair behind her ear and then tracing her blushing cheek. 

“I guess I played a sizable role in that takedown,” she bragged with a sly smile. “But tell me, how was it, seeing your family again?” Lucy’s face fell slightly as she segued necessarily from optimistic thoughts to the confusing obligation of supporting him if he wanted to go back to Lorena, to be her husband.

“It was wonderful,” Flynn said with a gentle laugh. “Look…” he took out his phone and showed Lucy photo after photo of himself with Iris and Lorena, the three of them making silly faces, then smiling, then hugging…a happy, perfect family. Lucy felt so torn between joy at his chance to reunite with them, and heartbreak on her own behalf that it was like being ripped in two. 

“Iris has gotten so much bigger, just in a year,” he mused. “She’s such a good reader — tops in her class! But 68th percentile for math, she takes after her old man that way.”

Lucy laughed and he put his arm around her as she nestled into his shoulder, tucking her legs beneath her. It would be easier to say it now, she realized. Now that they weren’t looking at each other.

“I just want you to know,” she said, her voice a distant, near-dead thing, detached. “That if the trial goes well — and I’m almost positive it will — and you’re a free man tomorrow, you really are a free man.”

“I know that,” he acknowledged, massaging her shoulder, stroking her hair. She sighed, melting closer against his strong, firm body.

“Flynn…I mean, I know you might need to go home to your family and stay there. And it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” She sniffed against the tears that threatened, her eyes burning, her pride and desire to make him happy already starting to weaken as her painful anticipation grew.

“Of course you wouldn’t be fine,” he answered immediately, straightening and looking into her eyes almost reprovingly. “And neither would I. Of course I won’t go back to Lorena as a husband now. I love you. I’ll always love you, Lucy.”

“But—“ Lucy’s eyes widened and she felt a sharp bliss seizing her heart, lightening it of the burden she’d held there since his departure. “Flynn, are you sure? You don’t have to feel the slightest obligation or responsibility to me, I can get by on my own—“

“I feel all the responsibility in the world to you, and I couldn’t be happier about it,” Flynn corrected her, his palm warm against her shoulder, which was laid bare by the loose neckline of her worn grey pajama top. “I love you, and that love, that passion compels me to do everything within my power to give you a life full of everything you want. Do you want to be with me, Lucy?”

“Yeah, uh, of course I do,” she answered nervously, overwhelmed by his intensity. He was so damn sure! She’d never expected him to be this sure, not after being with Lorena again. Yet there was no questioning the certainty in his handsome, tired, truthful face, nor in his deep, steady voice. “I love you," she continued, "You’re it for me, and I’ve known it since Bonnie and Clyde. I was just afraid that out of some obligation to protect me, to avoid hurting me, you’d deny yourself the life you might really want with Lorena…”

“From the first time we made love, I had a responsibility to you. I would not have been with you if I didn’t want that chance, however slim it seemed, to be the man for you, Lucy.” 

“I guess I’ve been overthinking myself into a frenzy these last few days,” Lucy admitted, her words spilling out in a gush of surprised giddiness at his words, his spellbindingly romantic words, his beautiful soul and the heart she needed bound to hers for life. The heart that was already hers, after all her fear. She tried to explain.

“When I thought and thought about our time together,” she told him, “I worried that maybe it was just…an explosion of repressed feelings. We were under an incredible amount of tension and pressure from external circumstances, and…and we have been ever since, if you think about it…” Lucy babbled on. “I had a whole speech ready for this moment, for you telling me you had to be with Lorena now. I was going to promise you that I’m a big girl. And I understand that sometimes sex is just sex.”

Flynn took her hand with a firmly tender grip, and when she looked into his eyes they were mildly reprimanding, endlessly loving. “Not to me, it isn’t. Not with you. It could never be.”

“Oh, God, baby!” Lucy gasped, fully and finally believing him, letting the truth of his confessions and his commitment sink in as she climbed into his lap, straddling him and throwing her arms around his neck. “It’s really me?”

“It’s you, Lucy,” he said gruffly, kissing her lips, immediately entranced enough by the taste of her mouth that he sighed, clasping her face and kissing her several more times, their tears mixing until they couldn’t tell whose were whose.

“It’s you,” he repeated. “I’ve waited my whole life to be with you, I know that now. Fighting it made me miserable. I’ll always be Iris’ father, and if I win this trial I’m going to be in her life like she deserves, and I’m going to be Lorena’s friend. We’ll need a divorce, naturally, and then she can be with the new someone she’s also found. And you and me, Lucy Preston, we are going to go back in time to your mother's youth, make sure she meets cute with your dad, and ensure that there is an Amy.”

“Yeah,” she confirmed, nodding emphatically, grinning like a teenaged, lovestruck idiot while he did exactly the same. “Yeah. That’ll be our first mission once you’re free. And then what?”

“And then,” Flynn promised, eyes twinkling as he lowered her onto the couch and hovered above her, sensuality apparent in every nuance of his posture, “You and I are going to live happily ever after. We’ll keep fighting the good fight through history against our enemies, of course…it’s kind of our wheelhouse, don’t you think?”

“You might say so,” she agreed, hooking her legs around him as he settled between her thighs and brushed the back of his hand gently against her wet cheeks. “You also might say I’m pretty fucking crazy about you.”

“Glad to hear it,” Flynn beamed, claiming her lips in a hot, searching kiss before he murmured intently, “Because that makes me the luckiest man alive.”


	10. Epilogue

“Dammit…They’re burned,” Flynn worried, squinting through the smoke at the grill as he hurriedly gathered food up onto the platter in Lucy’s hands. They were standing out on her deck on a beautiful June day, the warm breeze doing little to dissipate the grey fog emanating from Flynn’s attempts to cook up a barbecue feast for their friends and family.

“It doesn’t matter about the hot dogs, they still taste great when they’re burned,” Lucy assured him, examining the plate, trying not to grin at his unbelievably adorable look of nervous frustration. He cared so much about getting this right, but neither one of them were exactly master chefs.

“Yeah, but what about the chicken?” Flynn followed along as Lucy fearlessly conveyed the platter of meat inside, setting it down on the kitchen counter. Wyatt paused in the act of removing two beers from the fridge and came over to check out the latest addition to the buffet spread.

“Blackened chicken, nice! Maybe you’re not so bad after all, Flynn.” Wyatt clapped the other man on the back as Lucy giggled helplessly and Flynn gaped at him in bafflement.

“Jess, there’s chicken, burned just how I like it,” Wyatt called, carrying the drinks for himself and his wife into the living room as Amy nearly bumped into him in the kitchen doorway.

“Guys, I thought we were eating outside, it’s gorgeous today,” Amy said, then gulped back a giggle to rival her sister’s once she saw the plumes of smoke out back. “On second thought, maybe we’ll just wait a while for that to clear up…play some cornhole after lunch? You still up to show ‘em all how much ass we can kick at that game, Lucy?”

Lucy smoothed her hands over her round, blossoming stomach as Flynn put an arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead, nuzzling his nose into her. “Oh, hell yeah,” she confirmed, popping an olive into her mouth from a plate on the counter and slipping her hand around her fiance’s waist. “As far as I’m concerned, we’ve just added a new member to our team.”

“Five months,” Jiya sang out, entering the kitchen with an inquisitive look and Rufus on her heels. Wyatt and Jessica were probably making out in the living room, knowing them. “So, are you finding out the baby’s sex?”

“We can’t decide,” Lucy admitted. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, and the ultrasound’s scheduled for Monday!”

“Well,” Flynn mused, his breath tickling her skin in a way that ensured she couldn’t wait until they were alone again later. “We could always ask Iris what we should do.”

“Yes!” Lucy agreed, hugging him closer, “That’s perfect! We’ll call her later.”

“Well, if it’s a boy, may I just remind you that Rufus is a very distinguished name,” Rufus said pointedly, loading a cracker up with so much cheese and pepperoni that the structural integrity of the snack was highly questionable, at least until Jiya swept in and stole about half of the toppings. Rufus laughed and kissed her quickly before popping the cracker in his mouth. “Thief,” he accused, “Adorable, sexy thief, but a thief all the same.”

“Just saving you from a snack-tastrophe,” Jiya replied smartly, her eyes flitting to the tray of chicken and hot dogs. “Ooh, blackened chicken! Where’s the hot sauce at?”

“I swear to God, it was supposed to be nice, tender, fall-apart-in-your-mouth chicken,” Flynn sighed softly as Lucy laughed. “Why are they so thrilled that they’ll be hurting their teeth on that char?”

“Yummy char,” Lucy corrected him, handing Jiya the bottle of Red Hot. “Just take the win, baby. And anyway, don’t expect to hear me complaining. I happen to like my snacks a little tough on the outside.”

“ _You_ ,” Flynn warned, stealing a tiny lick on her ear before anyone noticed, “Are a very bad girl, and you’re going to be in quite a bit of trouble after everyone goes home.” 

He slipped the loose, fallen strap of her floral sundress back up into place on her shoulder, his touch liberally covering her bare skin until she could hardly believe he still had this powerful an effect on her, even after all these months together. In fact, whether through pregnancy hormones, the strength of their love growing over time, or probably both, it was even harder than ever these days to keep her hands off him. For one thing, he should absolutely not even be allowed to wear t-shirts and shorts...but she wasn't complaining.

Lucy quivered pleasurably and watched as the others all filled their plates with food, chattering and continuing to be either oblivious or uncaring to the PDA between her and Flynn. She took advantage of the moment to swiftly smack his ass and then shoot him a wicked grin. 

“I hope so,” Lucy smirked, and he beamed at her before licking his lips in that astoundingly erotic habit he had, a habit that was only one of the million reasons she could never resist him.

“Luce, you think Mom’s been a little _off_ lately?” Amy asked after taking the potato salad from the fridge and adding it to the spread on the counter. 

“Yeah,” Lucy admitted more seriously. Flynn stepped quietly away to talk to the others, sensing that the sisters needed space to chat. “Maybe more than a little off. Since she got better, she’s been disappearing all the time, at odd hours…I invited her to the cookout today and she swore she wouldn’t miss it.”

“Yet she’s nowhere to be found,” Amy said, brow creased in concern. “I don’t know, Lucy. Something weird’s up with her.” 

“Maybe we can talk to her about it,” Lucy suggested, her mind racing to find a way to deal with this as a family while protecting Amy from the secrets involved in Lucy’s own dark legacy. If Benjamin Cahill was Rittenhouse, there was a damn good chance Carol had known all along. What with all her vital Time Team missions, that was one lead which Lucy hadn’t managed to follow up on yet, but procrastination would only add to the tension between herself, Amy, and their mom. 

When Lucy, Wyatt and Rufus had gone back to Carol's past to help nudge along Amy's conception, it had resulted in a new twist on the current timeline. Amy was still Amy, the same lovable, irrepressible free spirit Lucy had missed so desperately. Carol had been sick again, but less severely, going into remission not long after the night Lucy had returned to find Amy sitting up watching reruns of Full House in the living room like she’d never been gone. 

While her mother had never been a warm woman, now there was an ominous glint in her eye when she looked at her eldest daughter, like she saw an invisible clock ticking down to the moment when _something_ was going to happen to Lucy. Carol had been less than enthused when Lucy introduced her mysterious Croatian boyfriend and then revealed her pregnancy a couple of months later, never seeming to think Flynn was good enough for her daughter…but why? 

“Hey,” Amy smiled gently, squeezing Lucy’s hand. “Don’t look so worried. We’re family, we’ll figure it out together. Maybe someday you’ll even tell me what you really get up to with these fabulous ne’er do wells, because I’m pretty sure they’re not actually your research colleagues.”

“Well…in a manner of speaking,” Lucy posited, wishing there was a way to bring Amy up to speed but hesitant to shatter her sister’s sense of the world as a basically sane and safe place. It was so far from being either of those things that it hurt, but the new hope growing within her womb, within her love story with Flynn and the affectionate camaraderie of the team made Lucy cling more stubbornly than ever to her plucky optimism. 

Taking David Rittenhouse’s son out of play had certainly weakened the cult, but there were still plenty of sleeper agents embedded throughout time. In fact, the lack of a cohesive and predictable gameplan or just one “big bad” leader to try and fight added a new layer of challenge to the battle to keep history and the world in one piece. Yet Lucy knew that thanks to what she and Flynn had accomplished, the fight was ultimately much more winnable that it ever could have been before.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Amy reasoned with a patient shrug. “I’m having a brownie even though it’s not dessert time yet. And you should have two, the baby needs one.” She winked, popping a chunk of moist, chocolately goodness in her mouth and heading off to sit at the table with Rufus and Jiya. 

Flynn stood over the big bowl of salad, bottles of oil and vinegar lifted in his hands and a look of bewilderment on his face. Lucy laughed adoringly and took the decanters from him. “Just…let people put the dressing on their own salads, it’s easier that way,” she suggested, saving them all from eating drowned lettuce.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he sighed, carrying the bowl to the table as Wyatt and Jessica came back in and everyone laughed.  


“What?” Wyatt asked, heading straight for the chicken as Jiya passed him the hot sauce.

“Um, you’re wearing most of Jessica’s lipstick,” Amy pointed out.

“And who’s doing your hair these days, man?” Rufus shook his head, chortling. “Looks like you stuck your finger in a socket.”

“Aww, sweetie,” Jessica cooed, running her hands through Wyatt’s hair to smooth it out. She grabbed a napkin and blotted his lips. “You look so cute, it just makes me wanna kiss you again.”

“Damn, it’s like a hormone-fest in here, and Lucy’s the only one with an excuse,” Amy complained. “I need to get coupled up before I die of romantic FOMO from hanging out with you crazies.”

“Don’t worry, Jiya and I are perfectly capable of showing more decorum than the rest of these scoundrels,” Rufus ensured her, only prompting a disbelieving grunt from Amy.

“You really think I haven’t noticed you two playing footsie under the table this whole time?” Amy sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I guess there is a certain atmosphere of love in the air,” Flynn suggested, sneaking Lucy outside and backing her playfully against the side of the house. He pinned her hands lightly by her head as she grinned at him, eyes twinkling in anticipation. 

“I blame us,” Lucy claimed proudly. “We’re nothing but trouble and a terrible influence to everyone around us.”

“Hmm, that sounds like me, but not you, my love.” Flynn gave her a more vulnerable smile, loosening his hold on her as he guided one of her hands tenderly to his heart. She felt the quickening beat and reached up to place her free hand on his face, stroking his cheek as some of the stress dissolved from his expression.

“You’re going to be a wonderful husband and a fantastic father. You’re already a fantastic dad to Iris, and you should know that, Flynn. Trust me?” Lucy smiled and went up on her tiptoes to kiss his lips.

“I do,” Flynn answered huskily, “But I don’t know how long it’ll take me to fully trust myself again. Sometimes, I still think about the things I’ve done, and…Lucy, I just don’t know if I really deserve all of this. This happiness, being with you, getting to _marry_ you, be a father, even earning the others’ trust…” he nodded back at the house. 

“Garcia Flynn,” Lucy said emphatically, clasping his face in both of her soft, sure hands. “You deserve every single bit of happiness this world has to offer. You once told me you considered it your privilege to do everything you could to give me the life I want, and I’m here to tell you, I will do the same for you. Always.”

Flynn shrugged the way he did when he momentarily couldn’t quite believe or handle something immensely joyful. Then the outpouring of emotion in his heart took him over, making him tremble and hold her close, her swollen belly nestled against him as he sighed, finding peace again. Finding hope.

“Thank you, Lucy, for everything. For being you, for loving me, just…thanks,” he murmured, rubbing her back as she gave a contented sigh of her own.

“It’s like I said, my darling,” she smiled, hugging him snugly, soothed by the smell of his skin through his shirt, the steadier beat of his calming heart and the sounds of joking and laughter coming from the house. “Always.”


End file.
